rx.  IF  jfW  F*        'V^'V'Clt  T  vy  T^   T^    fjff  TWTT"5k 

MCK  PENTREATR 


P^NAN 


DICK    PENTREATH 


"  SUSAN    ...    IN    A    PRINT    FROCK    WITH    A    SUN-BONNET 
ATOP    OF    HER    FLAMING    LOCKS."  [Page  23} 


DICK   PENTREATH 


KATHARINE   TYNAN 

AUTHOR  OF  "JULIA,"     "A  DEAR  IRISH  GIRL,"  ETC. 


With  Four  Full-page  Illustrations  by  George  Alfred  Williams 


CHICAGO 
A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 

LONDON:  SMITH,  ELDER  &  Co. 
1906 


Published  March  17,  1906 


Electrotyped  in  Great  Britain 
Presfwork  by  R.  R.  Donnelley  &•  Sons  Co.,  Chicago 


CONTENTS 


2229164 


CHAPTER 

I.  THE  BELOVED          ...           ...  ...           ...        1 

II.  SUSAN               ...           ...           ...  ...             13 

III.  SANCHO'S  FLOGGING               ...  ...  ...      25 

IV.  IN  THE  FOG      ...  40 

V.  FOR  DICK  ...            ...           ...  ...           ...      64 

VI.  THE  INTERLOPER             ...           ...  ...             67 

VII.  LOVERS'  HOLIDAY    ...           ...  ...           ...      78 

VIII.  THE  VICARAGE  PEOPLE  ...           ...  ...             91 

IX.  YOUNG  LOVE  ...  105 

X.  "HE  WOULD  LOVE  AND  SHE  WOULD  NOT1'  118 

XI.  "  BROWN  is  MY  LOVE  "         ...  ...           ...    131 

XII.  "LOVE   THAT   HATH   US   IN  HIS  NET1'  ...                 144 

XIII.  THE  ENVY  OF  THE  GODS       ...  ...  ...    159 

XIV.  THE  END  OF  THE  DAY    ...            ...  ...  173 

XV.  THE  BLOW  FALLS     ...            ...  ...           ...    183 

XVI.  IN  THE  BRIDE'S  ROOM     ...           ...  ...           197 

XVII.  "WHAT  A  THING  FRIENDSHIP  is"  ...           ...    209 

XVIII.  HILDA  221 


vill  CONTENTS 

CHAFTM 

XIX.  Two  WOMEN           ...           ...  ...           ...    233 

XX.  THE  NEWS       ...            ...  ...            ...            247 

XXI.  THE  BBIDE  COMES  HOME      ...  ...            ...    261 

XXII.  SUSAN  AND  THE  COUNTY  ...           ...           275 

XXIII.  THE  DINNER-PABTY               ...  ...  ...    286 

XXIV.  RECONCILIATION              ...  ...  ...            300 

XXV.  LOVERS'  MEETING    ...            ...  ...            ...    313 

XXVI.  A  PROBATIONER  OF  ST.  LUKE  ...           ...           324 

EPILOGUE  ...           ...           ...  335 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAG* 
"  SUSAN  ...  IN    A    PRINT     FROCK     WITH     A     SUN-BONNET 

ATOP  OP  HER  FLAMING  LOCKS  " Frontispiece 

"HlS    MOTHER,   THE    HONORABLE  MRS.  LUDLOW,  IS  IN   AND 

OUT   OF  THE   COTTAGES   ALL   DAY   LONG" 70 

"WHAT  A  PITY  MRS.  PENTREATH  COULDN'T  HAVE   LIVED 
TO  SEE  HOW  MASTER  DICK  GREW  UP  " 160 

"I  SHALL  PUT  THE  BREADTH  OF  THE  WORLD  BETWEEN  ME 
AND  DICK  " 322 


DICK    PENTREATH 


CHAPTER  I 

THE     BELOVED 

THERE  was  no  one  so  well  liked  in  the  county  by  rich 
and  poor  as  Dick  Pentreath.  It  is  a  very  proud  and 
very  exclusive  county,  and  Dick  was  a  simple  gentle- 
man, with  an  income  which  almost  any  one  of  his 
friends  might  have  given  away  without  missing  it. 

The  wealth  of  the  county  is  only  less  amazing  than 
its  rank.  It  has  no  middle  class  at  all.  There  seems 
to  be  a  sheer  descent  from  the  Duke  of  Lydford  to  the 
agricultural  labourer:  none  of  the  thousand  and  one 
gradations  that  usually  occupy  the  intervening  spaces. 
The  parsons  are  often  sons  of  noble  families.  If  the 
nouveau  riche  puts  his  nose  into  the  county  he  is  frozen 
out,  unless  he  has  more  than  his  money  to  recommend 
him,  for  the  aristocracy  are  old-fashioned  people,  to 
whom  money  as  money  counts  for  nothing.  If  you 
drift  into  one  of  its  beautiful  sleepy  villages  for  a 

B 


DICK   PENTREATH 

summer  holiday,  although  you  be  of  some  little  import- 
ance in  London,  there  is  no  society  for  you. 

There  is  something  appalling  in  the  splendid 
equipages,  with  the  old  crusted  family  servants,  the 
horses  whose  sides  are  mountains  of  glass,  the  tiny 
coronets  and  strawberry-leaves  on  the  panels.  You 
are  grateful  to  the  parson  who  has  a  large  family  and 
drives  a  gig  that  a  prosperous  tradesman  would  turn 
up  his  nose  at.  To  be  sure,  the  county  does  not  care 
for  that.  It  is  splendid  by  force  of  habit,  and  so  long 
as  a  man  is  well-born  he  may  drive  what  he  likes. 
The  county  hardly  observes  these  lapses  from  its  own 
stateliness  and  splendour — so  long  as  the  person  be 
well-born. 

It  would  be  quite  wrong  to  accuse  the  county  of 
pride.  Nothing  could  be  easier  than  the  ways  of  these 
great  folk  with  the  little  folk,  so  long  as  they  are  their 
own  little  folk.  Squire  Ludlow,  who  is  the  great 
grandson  of  two  dukes,  hails  the  village  youth  by  name 
with  a  simplicity  which  strikes  you,  if  you  are  a 
stranger.  There  is  a  note  of  equality  about  his  voice 
which,  if  you  only  hear  and  do  not  see  him,  makes  you 
imagine  him  to  be  a  person  of  no  importance. 

His  mother,  the  Honourable  Mrs.  Ludlow,  is  in  and 
out  of  the  cottages  all  day  long.  She  has  a  crazy, 
beautiful  old  house  on  the  village  green,  only  separated 
by  its  garden  from  the  almshouses.  She  likes  to  be 


THE   BELOVED  3 

on  the  village  green  rather  than  in  an  isolated  dignity, 
for  the  village  is  her  little  world,  and,  in  a  manner  of 
speaking,  she  is  more  interested  in  it  because  she  can 
have  a  finger  in  its  humble-pie  than  she  is  in  the 
world  of  her  peers. 

She  is  not  at  all  a  grand  person  to  look  at.  She 
always  goes  about  bareheaded,  except  for  her  widow's 
cap,  and  in  winter  draws  round  her  little  shoulders  a 
faded,  pea-soup-coloured  cloak,  which  a  gipsy  woman 
would  hardly  accept  unless  by  way  of  courtesy.  You 
come  on  her  at  the  post-office  or  in  the  parlour  of  the 
inn,  or  see  her  sitting  in  the  doorway  of  one  of  the 
picturesque  cottages,  and  take  her  for  a  nobody. 

Nor,  oddly  enough,  do  the  villagers  seem  overawed 
by  the  great  folk.  They  are  so  much  used  to  them, 
indeed,  that  they  take  them  in  a  sense  as  of  them- 
selves, something  so  belonging  to  everyday  life  that 
for  several  generations  back  they  have  forgotten  to  be 
impressed.  In  fact,  they  have  been  more  excited  over 
a  visit  of  the  mayor  and  mayoress  of  one  of  the  county 
towns  who  came  in  a  motor  car  and  had  tea  at  the  inn. 
The  Squire  is  to  be  seen  at  all  hours  of  the  day ;  he 
plays  cricket  and  football  in  the  same  team  as  the 
farmers'  sons  and  the  agricultural  labourers ;  and  has 
been  known  to  lean  against  a  house-wall  on  a  summer 
day,  smoking  his  pipe  with  the  rest  of  them,  while  the 
new  policeman — a  travelled  man,  whose  ideal  in  life  is 


4  DICK  PENTREATH 

"  all  for  to  see  and  to  admire," — told  some  of  his  adven- 
tures in  foreign  lands.  There  is  no  servility  towards 
that  good  fellow,  the  Squire,  although  there  is  respect 
as  from  man  to  man. 

Then,  the  Duke  of  Lydford  is  a  farmer,  and  will 
come  himself  to  make  a  bargain  over  a  Berkshire  boar 
or  half  a  dozen  black  Angus  steers.  You  may  see  him 
any  day  trudging  through  the  muck  of  a  farmyard  and 
feeling  the  condition  of  the  creatures  with  his  ducal 
fingers.  Nor  will  he  refuse  a  glass  of  cowslip  wine 
from  the  farmer's  wife  after  the  bargain  has  been  made. 

Indeed,  the  aristocracy  and  the  common  people  make 
a  little  community,  in  which  there  is  ease  and  intimacy, 
but  no  room  at  all  for  the  outsider.  One  often  wonders 
how  the  doctors  in  those  parts  get  on,  being  above  the 
common  people,  and  depending  for  their  social  life  on 
the  invitations  once  or  twice  a  year  to  dinner  at  the 
Manor  House  or  the  Towers.  Poor  doctors !  they  have 
a  loneliness  of  aspect  as  one  meets  them  driving  about 
the  lanes,  that  makes  one  pleased  to  be  returning  to 
that  great  metropolis  where  the  accident  of  birth  does 
not  determine  one's  friendships  and  opportunities. 

Dick  Pentreath  was  the  only  son  of  a  younger  son's 
younger  son,  and  none  of  his  forbears  had  been  any- 
thing but  plain  gentlemen.  However,  in  these  matters 
the  county  is  not  exacting.  No  man  could  be  more 
than  a  gentleman,  it  would  say  ;  and  it  is  as  unconscious 


THE  BELOVED  5 

of  gradations  above  the  rank  of  a  gentleman  as  it  is 
of  those  below. 

His  personality  counted  for  more  to  his  neighbours, 
gentle  and  simple,  than  he  knew  or  they  knew,  not 
being  a  particularly  imaginative  people. 

To  be  sure,  he  was  as  handsome  as  the  day,  sun- 
burnt and  ruddy,  with  hair  that  would  have  curled  if  it 
had  been  allowed,  and  rippled  since  it  was  so  closely 
cropped ;  frank,  smiling  blue  eyes ;  a  straight,  well- 
set-up  figure.  But  it  was  not  these  things  that  made, 
him  so  much  loved  in  the  county.  He  had  a  curious 
radiancy  of  aspect,  which  people  felt  without  being 
able  to  define  it.  It  was  really  the  expression  of  his 
heart's  good-will  to  all  his  fellow-creatures.  He  was 
merry,  he  was  friendly ;  he  remembered  the  children's 
names  and  the  old  people's  ailments,  and  who  was  in 
service  and  who  was  in  a  shop.  He  remembered,  not 
by  any  subtlety,  for  he  was  not  subtle,  and  he  was 
certainly  not  intellectual,  but  because  of  his  real 
interest  in  and  liking  for  the  people. 

When  he  rode  through  the  village  of  a  morning, 
with  his  Clumber  spaniel,  Sancho,  at  his  horse's  heels, 
the  women  would  come  out  of  their  cottages  to  their 
garden  gates  and  lean  across  them  to  watch  him  out  of 
sight.  He  rode  slowly  through  the  village,  for  he  had  a 
nod  and  a  smile  for  every  one  and  so  many  inquiries  to 
make;  and  the  village  felt  better  when  he  had  passed.  He 


6  DICK  PENTREATH 

had  a  way  of  making  the  sun  come  out  for  people  even 
on  a  gloomy  day ;  and  though  his  income  was  compara- 
tively a  contemptible  one,  he  would  always  put  his  hand 
in  his  pocket  to  help  a  poor  neighbour  or  provide  one 
with  some  comfort.  Moreover,  he  would  help  them  in 
their  affairs,  and  never  grudge  time  nor  trouble  to  the 
setting  of  them  straight.  He  was  executor  to  half  the 
village  and  godfather  to  the  other  half.  Squire  Ludlow 
used  to  say  laughingly  that  Dick  Pentreath  pushed  him 
out  with  the  people. 

His  mother  had  died  when  he  was  fourteen.  He 
had  never  seen  his  father.  He  had  been  the  delight  of 
his  mother's  eyes ;  and  many  a  time  now  the  women 
shook  their  heads  and  said  what  a  pity  Mrs.  Pentreath 
couldn't  have  lived  to  see  how  Master  Dick  grew  up. 

His  house  was  on  the  ascent  which  the  road  takes 
after  it  leaves  the  village  behind.  "  A  house  set  on  a 
hill : "  that  was  what  one  always  thought  of  coming  in 
sight  of  Oakhurst,  as  the  house  was  called,  standing  up 
candid  and  friendly  against  an  evening  sky.  It  was  a 
long,  two-story  house  covered  in  creepers,  in  a  bit  of 
park  land  studded  with  oaks.  The  windows  were  big 
windows  of  many  panes  that  are  afire  with  the  sunset 
on  stormy  winter  evenings.  The  village  dips  in  a 
hollow,  and  is  surrounded  by  magnificent  trees.  The 
great  houses  hide  themselves  away  behind  belts  of 
forest  trees.  Only  as  you  climb  the  hill  to  Oakhurst 


THE  BELOVED  7 

you  come  into  a  clear  space.  There  is  a  great  stretch 
of  sky  and  the  distant  hills  appear  on  the  horizon.  The 
house  stands  clear  of  shadows — a  kindly  house,  a  house 
which  had  no  memory  of  tragedy  or  shame  about  it. 
With  its  chimneys  smoking  into  the  clear  sky,  it  struck 
you  as  something  warm  and  homelike,  like  a  friend's 
face.  And  although  it  had  no  mistress,  but  only  a 
master,  the  house  was  indeed  as  pleasant  a  place  as  it 
looked,  for  Dick's  servants,  from  Mrs.  Maidment,  the 
housekeeper,  down  to  Brew  the  coachman  and  general 
man,  adored  their  master  and  did  their  work  with 
the  thoroughness  of  affection. 

"I  don't  know  how  a  fellow  lives  without  being 
liked  all  round,"  Dick  said  once  to  Lady  Stella,  the 
Duke's  sister,  a  woman  no  longer  in  her  first  youth, 
with  a  plain  heavenly  face,  to  whom  Dick  was  in  the 
habit  of  turning  out  his  kind,  simple,  young  heart  so 
that  she  knew  every  nook  and  cranny  of  it. 

"  My  dear  Dick,"  she  answered  with  a  smile, 
"  I  congratulate  you  that  you  do  not  seem  likely  ever 
to  know." 

There  was  a  little  wistfulness  in  her  smile.  She 
was  remembering  that  only  a  few  days  before,  Mabel 
Kingscote,  the  eldest  of  the  young  Kingscotes,  who  with 
their  father  and  mother  and  grandmother  inhabited  a 
little  gabled  house  on  the  Squire's  land,  had  wept  into 
her  ear  her  tenderness  for  Dick  Pentreath  and  ner 


8  DICK   PENTREATH 

conviction  that  his  manner  towards  her  was  just  the 
same  as  his  manner  towards  her  grandmother. 

"  If  he  wouldn't  behave  so  beautifully,"  eighteen- 
year-old  Mabel  had  sobbed,  "  if  he  would  be  sometimes 
a  little  careless  and  forget  to  ask  one  to  dance,  and  go 
and  talk  politics  and  sport  with  the  other  men,  while  a 
row  of  us  sat  partnerless  around  the  room,  one  could 
begin  not  to  care  for  him  so  much,  perhaps.  Oh,  dear 
Lady  Stella,  how  did  I  ever  begin  it  ?  Wasn't  I  silly  ? 
for  he  never  really  was  nicer  to  me  than  to  all  the 
other  women.  I  don't  know  how  one  does  begin  such 
things." 

"  Nor  I  either,  Mabel,"  Lady  Stella  answered,  with 
the  least  little  catching  of  her  breath. 

She  knew  that  it  was  a  child's  fancy  with  Mabel, 
something  that  belonged  to  the  evolution  of  the  girl 
from  the  happy,  healthy  hoyden  who  had  played  and 
fought  with  her  half-dozen  brothers  in  the  little  house 
which  used  to  make  people  refer  to  old  Lady  Kingscote 
as  the  old  woman  who  lived  in  a  shoe.  She  was  sorry 
for  Mabel,  because  for  the  moment  there  was  real  if 
somewhat  shadowy  suffering;  but  she  knew  that  it 
would  pass  and  the  girl  be  no  worse  for  it.  Her  feeling 
for  Dick  Pentreath  did  credit  to  her  imagination  and 
her  heart.  Presently  she  would  suffer  no  more,  and 
would  cease  to  institute  comparisons  between  Dick 
and  little  Mr.  Nigel,  the  curate,  who  had  a  great  heart 


THE  BELOVED  9 

in  a  small  body,  and  adored  Mabel  Kingscote  in  every 
fibre  of  it. 

Most  of  the  young  girls  had  a  fancy  for  Dick,  Lady 
Stella  had  discovered.  Not  through  any  fault  of  Dick's. 
Bless  you,  no!  Dick  would  have  turned  beet-root 
colour  at  the  merest  suggestion  of  a  girl  being  in  love 
with  him,  and  would  have  felt  impelled  to  commit — 
Heaven  knows  what  act  of  rashness. 

It  did  the  young  creatures  no  harm  to  be  in  love  with 
Dick.  Doubtless  a  good  many  women  in  all  ranks  of 
life  felt  their  hearts  beat  a  little  faster  when  he  came 
in  sight. 

But  he  was  just  as  unconscious  as  Sancho;  and 
since  the  men  were  nearly  as  fond  of  him  as  the  women 
— quite  as  fond  in  their  way — there  was  nothing  more 
needed  to  prove  that  Dick  was  a  thoroughly  good 
fellow. 

The  village  had  long  ago  made  up  its  mind  that  he 
would  marry  Lady  Stella.  To  be  sure,  she  was  a  good 
two  years  older  than  he,  and  her  manner  towards  him 
was  of  a  calm,  elder-sister  sort ;  but  they  were  so  often 
seen  walking  and  riding  together,  apparently  on  such 
excellent  terms  with  each  other,  that  the  village  had 
colour  for  its  assumption. 

Folk  from  the  outside  world  might  have  thought 
that  it  would  be  a  great  match  for  a  simple  gentleman 
like  Dick  Pentreath — a  Duke's  sister,  connected  with 


10  DICK   PENTREATH 

half  the  nobility  of  England,  and  with  a  great  fortune 
in  her  own  right. 

But  the  village  did  not  think  about  that,  having  as 
little  feeling  for  gradation  of  rank  as  its  betters.  The 
village  thought  rather  that  Lady  Stella  would  be  the 
gainer,  being  partial  to  Dick  Pentreath. 

Lady  Stella  herself  had  no  illusions  on  the  subject. 
She,  of  all  women,  knew  Dick  Pentreath's  heart- 
wholeness.  Since  he  was  far  from  being  cold  and 
dull,  it  was  certain  that  his  heart  would  be  touched 
some  day.  It  thrilled  her  to  think  of  that  day.  Dick 
would  love  royally,  prodigally,  when  the  day  came. 
His  would  be  no  drab  happiness  of  a  marriage  founded 
on  esteem  and  affection.  When  he  loved,  he  would 
put  his  whole  heart  into  it. 

Meanwhile  there  was  a  certain  tender  tie  between 
Dick's  dog,  Sancho,  and  Lady  Stella. 

Sancho  has  not  had  his  proper  meed  of  introduction 
and  description  so  far  in  this  story.  He  was  very  dear 
to  Dick  Pentreath.  At  this  time  he  was  a  young  dog, 
under  two  years  old,  and  as  beautiful  in  his  dog  kind 
as  his  master.  He  was  clothed  in  furlike  grebe,  silver, 
and  close-fitted  as  feathers,  with  the  most  beautiful 
silken  sheen  upon  it :  ice  and  silver  in  its  high  lights 
and  shadows. 

He  had  a  broad,  intelligent  forehead  and  beautiful 
brown  eyes.  His  great  flapping  ears  were  liver-coloured 


THE  BELOVED  11 

at  the  edge,  and  here  and  there  his  coat  was  flecked 
with  spots  of  the  same  colour.  He  had  enormous  paws 
with  great  soft  pads,  and  when  he  sat  down  beside  you 
and  put  a  paw  on  your  arm  and  looked  into  your  face 
with  a  world  of  eloquence  in  his  beautiful  eyes,  you 
could  not  choose  but  love  him. 

In  his  way  he  was  as  much  liked  as  his  master, 
and  attracted  as  much  admiration.  Did  Dick  pause 
for  a  moment  in  the  village,  the  children  came  running 
from  all  directions  to  stroke  Sancho,  who  was  mag- 
nanimous with  them,  and  would  not  even  play  too 
roughly. 

After  his  master,  Sancho's  great  affection  was  for 
Lady  Stella.  "  There  was  a  woman ! "  his  eyes  would 
say  as  he  sat  beside  Lady  Stella,  putting  his  dusty 
paws  unrebuked  on  the  sleeve  of  her  beautiful  dress. 
Lady  Stella  always  dressed  in  whites  or  blacks,  greys 
or  mauves,  and  was  always  supremely  elegant.  Not 
one  woman  in  a  thousand  would  have  permitted  the 
caress,  even  from  Dick  Pentreath's  dog,  and  Sancho 
knew  it. 

Sometimes  he  and  Lady  Stella  were  alone.  These 
would  be  times  when  Dick  was  gone  somewhere  he 
could  not  take  Sancho,  and  Lady  Stella  would  call  for 
the  dog,  and  take  him  for  walks,  pitying  his  loneli- 
ness. He  would  go  home  with  his  friend,  and  be  fed 
with  dainty  bits  from  the  tea-table,  and  afterwards 


12  DICK   PENTBEATH 

Lady  Stella  would  take  both  his  great  paws  in  her 
beautiful  hands  and  look  down  into  his  eyes ;  and  he 
would  look  up  into  hers,  and  both  would  sigh.  It  was 
deep  answering  deep.  Sancho  was  quite  sure  in  his 
own  mind  that  there  was  not  a  woman  in  the  world 
like  Lady  Stella. 


CHAPTER  H 

SUSAN 

THE  Stone  Farm  amid  the  Essex  marshes  was  a 
pleasanter  place  than  one  might  suppose  it  to  be  from 
its  name,  which  in  fact  was  derived  from  an  obelisk 
that  stood  up  straight  and  tall  in  the  field  facing  the 
house-front. 

It  was  poor,  unproductive  land,  and  old  John  Sykes 
who  owned  it  had  made  but  a  poor  thing  of  it. 

Neither  he  nor  his  wife,  Hannah,  was  of  the  sort 
to  prosper  very  much  in  this  world.  He  had  tastes 
that  did  not  consort  with  the  ways  of  a  successful 
farmer,  and  had  gratified  them  at  the  expense  of  more 
material  things,  till  his  daughter  Susan  grew  up  and 
took  command  of  life  generally  at  the  Stone  Farm. 

John  was  a  gentle,  watery-eyed,  visionary  person. 
What  if  the  sheep  did  die  of  the  rot !  what  if  it  was 
next  to  impossible  to  get  crops  to  thrive  on  the  farm 
other  than  the  arid  sea  grasses,  in  which  only  the  most 
persevering  of  cattle  could  find  a  few  sweet  blades  1 

13 


14  DICK   PENTREATH 

The  general  contrariness  of  life  was  forgotten  when 
John  had  his  eye  to  the  telescope  which  he  had  pur- 
chased some  years  earlier  at  the  sale  of  the  effects  of  a 
scientifically-minded  gentleman  of  the  neighbourhood. 
On  the  same  occasion  he  had  bought  a  few  books 
dealing  with  astronomy.  He  had  ploughed  his  way 
through  them  with  much  patience  and  many  strange 
errors  of  pronunciation,  and  in  time  had  come  to  have 
some  shapeless  understanding  of  the  subject.  It  was 
a  comfort  when  things  were  going  from  bad  to  worse, 
when  it  was  hard  to  make  the  rent,  and  the  sea-fog 
coming  in  over  the  marshes  was  strangling  to  asthmatic 
people, — it  was  a  comfort  to  clap  one's  eye  to  the 
telescope-  and  realize  the  little  importance  of  one's  self 
or  one's  planet  in  the  scheme  of  created  things. 

Her  husband's  unusual  tastes  and  habits  had  been 
a  matter  of  no  little  pride  to  Hannah  Sykes,  although 
it  was  a  pride  never  acknowledged.  When  the  Eector, 
the  Hon.  and  Eev.  Algernon  Percy,  who  was  interested 
in  old  Sykes,  congratulated  her  on  having  a  husband 
with  such  distinguished  tastes,  she  merely  remarked 
that  it  was  a  deal  better  to  have  him  looking  at  Serious 
and  Venius  through  a  glass  than  have  him  drinking 
himself  stupid  at  the  Punch-Bowl. 

Mrs.  Sykes  sometimes  sent  a  wistful  glance  back 
to  the  days  when  Susan  had  not  been,  or  when  she  had 
been  in  pinafores,  although  even  then  there  had  been 


SUSAN  15 

a  dry  judgment  in  her  eyes  when  she  surveyed  her 
thriftless  parents  that  had  made  one  of  them  at  least 
premonitorily  uncomfortable. 

"That  there  child,  Susan,  she  do  look  at  me  as 
though  she  had  a  poor  opinion  of  me,"  Mrs.  Sykes 
confessed  once  to  her  husband,  when  smarting  more 
than  usual  under  the  depreciation  of  ten-year-old 
Susan's  glance. 

"The  little  lass?"  John  Sykes  replied  absently, 
fixing  the  sight  of  the  telescope  in  the  wooden  house 
which  he  had  put  together  to  hold  it.  "  Why,  mother, 
you  must  be  going  silly!  What  for  would  the  little 
lass  look  at  you  like  that  ? " 

It  was  several  years  later  when  Mrs.  Sykes  remarked 
to  John,  in  a  trembling  voice,  that  folk  did  very  wrong 
when  they  meddled  with  the  Lord's  will — 

"  Might  happen  the  Lord  knew  better  how  to  do 
for  folk  than  they  knew  theirselves." 

This  time  John  understood  her  allusion  to  the  time 
when  she  had  wearied  Heaven  with  prayers  for  a  child, 
after  they  had  been  long  childless,  and  Susan  had  been 
sent,  apparently,  in  answer. 

"  May  happen,"  John  said  deliberately,  "  that  the 
prayers  go  wrong  somehow  and  never  gets  to  Heaven 
at  all.  When  you  think,  Hannah  girl,  of  the  way  them 
prayers  must  take,  if  as  Parson  says,  Heaven's  beyond 
the  stars,  the  risks  they  must  run,  the  getting  burnt 


16  DICK  PENTREATH 

up  or  being  lost,  or  going  to  the  wrong  place  or  the 
wrong  person, — may  happen,  Hannah,  my  girl,  'tis 
sometimes  the  devil  answers  them." 

But,  to  be  sure,  John  was  a  heterodox  old  person,  as 
the  Eector  had  long  ago  found  out.  Not  but  what  he 
was  always  a  church-goer,  and,  dry  weather  or  wet 
weather,  hail,  snow,  or  shine  alike,  he  and  Hannah 
would  assume  their  suits  of  decent  black,  and  go  off 
across  the  marshes  to  Medham  Church.  And  though 
John  would  listen  apparently  with  the  most  rapt 
interest  to  the  sermon,  the  Eector  felt  quite  sure 
that  John  heard  never  a  word,  but  that  his  mild 
blue  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  vision  of  the  fixed  stars 
and  the  stars  whirling  in  space,  and  that  his  ears 
listened  to  the  astral  silences  and  not  to  any  eloquence 
of  man.  In  the  privacy  of  his  home,  alone  with  his 
wife,  the  Eector  used  to  confess  cheerfully  that  the  sight 
of  old  John's  unseeing  eyes  made  him  feel  small,  adding 
that  doubtless  it  was  a  very  wholesome  thing  for  his 
spirit. 

"  Dear  me ! "  Mrs.  Percy  would  say,  "  where  did 
that  child  Susan  come  from  at  all  ? " 

It  was  a  question  a  good  many  people  had  asked 
and  were  to  ask ;  a  question  her  parents  often  asked, 
with  a  significance  that  did  not  belong  to  common 
wonder. 

Susan  went  to  school  up  to  her  sixteenth  year,  and 


SUSAN  17 

was  an  industrious  scholar.  Moreover,  her  looks  were 
a  credit  to  the  school,  and  for  that  nobody  was  inclined 
to  praise  Hannah,  who  was  really  quite  as  foolish  a 
person  to  the  common  mind  as  her  old,  star-gazing 
husband.  No,  the  credit  must  be  Susan's  own. 

It  was  Susan's  ruthless  hand  that  imparted  to  her 
own  rosy  cheek  that  high  satin  polish,  with  never  a 
whimper  for  the  soap  that  got  into  her  eyes  during  the 
process.  It  was  Susan  herself  who  brought  her  red 
hair  to  that  condition  of  shine  when  it  revealed  itself 
as  purplish  in  parts.  It  was  Susan  who  washed  and 
"got  up"  her  pink  print  frocks  and  her  pink  sun- 
bonnet.  It  was  Susan  who  had  made  for  herself  the 
little  scarlet  cloak  with  which  her  buxom  shoulders 
were  draped. 

Yet,  oddly  enough,  Susan  left  school  without  the 
affection  of  any  one,  whether  her  schoolmates  or  the 
schoolmistress.  Nor  did  she  desire  such  feeling  from 
them.  She  had  a  certain  fierce  energy  which  had  driven 
her  on  to  learn  her  lessons  when  they  were  to  be  learned; 
but  she  was  far  from  thinking  that  lesson-books,  or 
any  other  kind  of  books,  belonged  to  the  real  business 
of  life.  If  one  knew  enough  of  accounts  to  save  one 
from  being  cheated,  enough  of  reading  and  writing  to 
transact  one's  own  affairs  without  the  intervention  of 
others,  that  was  quite  enough  learning,  in  Susan's 
opinion. 

o 


18  DICK   PENTREATH 

Like  many  other  unlovable  women,  she  was  pos- 
sessed with  a  perfect  passion  for  the  details  of  house 
cleaning  and  keeping,  and  it  was  not  very  long  after 
her  leaving  school  before  she  pushed  her  unresisting 
old  mother  out  of  her  place  as  the  mistress  of  the  house. 

I  have  said  that  the  Stone  Farm  was  pleasanter 
than  its  name.  The  house,  in  fact,  was  a  most  goodly 
one  to  look  upon.  It  was  really  rather  a  small  manor 
house  than  a  farmhouse,  a  solidly  built  red-brick 
house,  with  deep  windows  five  abreast  and  a  hall-door 
in  the  middle,  above  the  glass  fanlight  of  which  was  a 
tablet,  recording  how  the  house  had  been  built  in  1712 
by  John  Eutherford. 

It  was  built  strongly  as  though  against  the  sea- 
wind,  which  yet  crept  into  the  rooms  and  made  them 
smell  salt  and  sweet. 

On  one  side  of  the  hall-door,  as  you  entered,  was  a 
dim  little  parlour,  ill  lit  by  its  two  windows  of  many 
panes,  since  their  setting  was  so  deep.  Perhaps  the 
house's  founder  had  not  intended  the  dimness,  for 
either  side  the  fireplace,  with  its  lining  of  blue  Dutch 
tiles  and  brass  grate  and  hobs,  there  was  a  pair  of  cup- 
boards with  glass  window-fronts  to  them,  which  were 
the  very  mates  of  the  actual  windows,  so  that  doubt- 
less some  later  inhabitant  of  the  house  had  blocked  up 
the  windows  and  made  cupboards  in  their  places.  These 
were  filled  with  china,  which  had  belonged  to  Hannah's 


SUSAN  19 

mother  and  John's  mother — good  old  china,  with  bits 
of  old  silver  and  old  plate  and  old  glass,  oddly  incon- 
gruous with  the  worthless  things  Hannah  had  bought 
from  time  to  time  from  travelling  cheap-jacks  or  in 
the  county  town. 

The  other  side  of  the  hall  was  the  kitchen,  which 
was  the  glory  of  the  house.  Artists  had  come  to  see 
it,  attracted  by  the  fame  of  it,  and  one  had  painted  a 
picture  of  it,  placing  a  scene  from  a  famous  historical 
novel  within  its  goodly  interior.  One  had  but  to  sit 
there  and  close  one's  eyes  and  dream,  and  one  was 
back  in  the  days  of  Queen  Anne. 

Doubtless  in  its  day  the  kitchen  had  been  the  hall 
of  the  house,  and  nothing  had  altered  for  the  worse 
since  John  Eutherford  and  his  children  had  sat  there ; 
rather,  Time  had  mellowed  and  beautified  it. 

Its  panelled  walls  were  of  oak,  with  many  cup- 
boards set  in  the  wood.  The  oak  had  blackened  with 
age,  so  that  Susan's  pink  and  scarlet  geraniums  in  the 
deep  windows  were  oddly  gay  by  contrast.  The  table 
ran  round  by  the  walls  and  was  riveted  to  the  floor. 
The  oaken  benches  were  part  of  the  walls.  Table  and 
benches  alike  were  highly  polished  by  contact  with  the 
generations  who  had  used  them.  They  were  guiltless 
of  table-cloths,  other  than  the  long  strips  of  coarse  linen 
which  Susan,  with  an  unexpected  good  judgment,  had 
set  down  the  middle. 


20  DICK  PENTREATH 

The  fireplace  was  the  centre  of  the  room ;  and  its 
great  beauty.  It  was  deep  and  high,  with  seats  at 
either  end  and  a  great  pair  of  dogs  in  the  middle. 
An  immense  hook  depended  from  the  chimney,  and 
the  walls  were  a  very  nest  of  tiny,  mysterious  cup- 
boards, used  perhaps  for  drying  snuff  and  tobacco, 
crossed  with  racks,  upon  which  whips  and  spurs  and 
centre-bits  had  once  hung.  By  the  side  of  the  fireplace 
was  a  screen  of  oak  from  floor  to  ceiling,  so  beautifully 
poised  that  a  child's  little  finger  might  have  drawn  it 
or  set  it  aside. 

The  house  had  other  beauties — the  great  lofty  bed- 
rooms, light  and  airy,  with  their  fine  tiled  fireplaces 
and  brass  grates.  One  had  its  powdering-closet,  speak- 
ing eloquently  of  the  past,  and  the  ancient  consideration 
of  the  Eutherfords.  An  oak  staircase  with  massive 
newels  and  balustrade  was  a  great  beauty  in  itself. 
Altogether  it  was  a  house  to  delight  a  person  of  imagi- 
nation, and  Susan,  although  she  was  not  endowed 
with  imagination,  saw  other  possibilities  in  it  which 
appealed  to  her  rather  more. 

It  was  a  house  that  took  a  deal  of  cleaning,  as 
Susan's  mother  had  often  remarked,  without,  however, 
setting  herself  to  do  the  cleaning.  But  it  was  other- 
wise with  Susan,  who  made  a  fetish  of  her  house- 
cleaning.  When  she  took  it  over,  without  asking  any- 
body's permission,  she  spent  a  fierce  month  of  days  over 


SUSAN  21 

it,  rising  at  daybreak  and  being  surprised  at  her  labours 
by  candlelight.  Such  scrubbing  and  sluicing  of  waters, 
such  polishing  and  beeswaxing,  had  not  been  known  in 
the  house  for  many  a  day. 

Hannah  had  offered  to  help  and  had  been  refused 
brusquely.  Susan  preferred  to  do  it  all  herself,  though 
she  would  not  have  scorned  efficient  help  if  she  could 
have  supervised  it  or  commanded  it  without  paying 
for  it. 

While  it  was  adoing  she  drove  the  old  couple  to 
the  back  kitchens,  great  stone-flagged,  cavernous  places, 
most  unsuited  to  the  asthmatic  and  rheumatic,  like 
John  and  Hannah. 

When  the  front  part  of  the  house  was  thoroughly 
cleaned  they  were  admitted  to  the  parlour  for  a  week 
during  which  Susan  worked  her  will  on  the  back 
kitchens.  But  the  parlour  had  to  be  fireless.  It  was 
not  likely  that  Susan  was  going  to  have  her  work 
undone  with  the  ashes  of  a  fire  flying  about.  Besides,  it 
was  May,  too  late  to  think  of  fires,  even  though  the 
east  wind  blowing  in  from  the  sea  found  out  every  weak 
spot  in  one's  fleshy  armour. 

After  that  week  the  back  kitchens  were  whitewashed, 
the  flagged  floors  sanded  over,  which  gave  them  a  heart- 
less brightness  and  gaiety  they  had  not  possessed  before. 
But  they  were  just  as  cold  as  ever,  with  piercing 
draughts  no  matter  where  one  sat. 


22  DICK   PENTREATH 

The  next  thing  was  to  move  the  old  couple's  bed- 
room, from  the  principal  room  with  the  powdering- 
closet  and  a  side  window  that  looked  pleasantly  over  a 
dip  in  the  land  where  a  pink  orchard  flourished  in  these 
days,  to  an  attic  at  the  back,  reached  by  a  ladder-like 
staircase,  a  dreary  and  dingy  place  which  had  somehow 
escaped  Susan's  mania  for  house-cleaning. 

Hannah  grumbled  a  good  deal  over  this,  but  not 
when  Susan  was  present.  John  didn't  care  greatly.  So 
long  as  Susan  spared  him  the  telescope  and  his  few 
books,  John  was  contented.  The  contemplation  of 
immensities  made  it  easier  for  John  to  bear  the  twinge 
of  one  poor  rheumatic,  asthmatic  body.  His  compassion 
was  for  Hannah  rather  than  for  himself ;  it  was  a  half- 
contemptuous  compassion,  for  he  regarded  Hannah 
as  a  person  of  poor  understanding  ;  but,  nevertheless,  he 
was  genuinely  fond  of  her,  and  the  discomfort  of  her 
complaints  found  him  out  even  among  the  stars. 

They  never  were  to  go  back  to  the  old  state  they 
had  enjoyed — at  least,  not  in  Susan's  time.  The  reason 
of  the  house-cleaning  soon  became  apparent.  Susan 
was  going  to  take  summer  lodgers.  She  must  be  the 
man  and  the  woman  of  the  house  both,  she  said,  with  a 
good-humoured  air  of  contempt.  And  since  the  farm 
would  never  make  money  the  Rutherfords'  old  house 
that  foolish  folk  came  to  gaze  at  must  be  made  to  do  it. 
Susan  would  never  own  to  any  affection  for  or  pride  in 


SUSAN  23 

the  old  house,  though  somewhere  in  her  hard  heart  she 
had  perhaps  a  little  of  both. 

She  succeeded  extremely  well  with  the  lodgers. 
The  Stone  Farm  was  a  beautiful  place  in  the  summer, 
with  a  diamond  haze  over  the  marshes,  and  the  little 
streams  gliding  amid  the  grey  bents  and  under  the  tall 
flaggers  with  their  yellow  iris  flowers.  Painters  came 
and  talked  of  the  Dutch  school  while  they  painted  the 
marsh  and  the  windmills,  the  little  bridges  and  cause- 
ways, and  Susan  driving  home  the  cows  in  a  blue  or 
pink  print  frock  with  a  sun-bonnet  atop  of  her  flaming 
locks. 

People  went  away  with  commendations  of  Susan's 
exquisite  cleanliness  and  her  good  plain  cooking,  and 
came  again  and  again.  And  after  the  last  summer 
visitor  had  flown  Susan  would  set  to  do  a  tremendous 
house-cleaning,  for  about  January,  when  the  pheasants 
were  pretty  well  done  inland,  there  was  excellent  rough 
shooting  to  be  had  over  the  marshes,  and  there  was 
a  party  of  gentlemen  who  came  every  January  and  shot 
wild  duck,  and  snipe,  and  plover,  and  teal ;  and  that 
month  was  the  pleasantest  of  the  year  to  Susan,  who,  de- 
spite her  hardness,  had  her  share  of  the  feminine  qualities. 

Dick  Pentreath  was  the  person  who  had  rented  the 
shooting ;  and  since  Oakhurst  gave  him  no  opportunities 
to  repay  his  friends  in  kind  for  the  pheasant  and  part- 
ridge and  grouse  shooting  which  they  gave  him  so 


24  DICK  PENTREATH 

liberally,  he  made  things  equal  by  inviting  them  to  the 
Stone  Farm  to  shoot  wild  duck. 

It  was  a  popular  fixture.  The  sportsmen  liked  the 
simplicity  of  life  at  the  farm.  It  was  like  going  back 
a  hundred  or  a  hundred  and  fifty  years.  The  Duke,  and 
Mr.  Ludlow,  and  young  Harry  Egerton,  and  Lord  Freyke, 
and  his  younger  brother,  Teddy  Gasaubon,  and  Beauclerk 
Marshbanks  came  year  after  year.  To  those  masculine 
minds  there  was  a  pleasure  difficult  of  realization  to  the 
feminine  mind  in  sitting  out  on  the  edge  of  the  marsh- 
pools  while  the  frost  turned  all  the  bents  and  rushes  to 
steel,  listening  with  every  sense  on  the  alert  for  the 
shrill  cry  of  the  drake  as  he  heralded  the  coming  in  of 
the  duck  over  the  marshes. 

Anyhow,  they  throve  on  the  hardships,  and  ate  pro- 
digious meals,  and  slept  the  sweetest  sleep,  and  made 
merry  of  evenings  as  though  they  were  schoolboys,  and 
went  back  when  the  time  was  over  in  rude  health,  such 
as  even  the  most  robust  was  hardly  conscious  of  in  the 
enervating,  beautiful  country  where  they  lived  most  of 
the  year. 

Dick  always  left  the  Stone  Farm  highly  pleased 
with  the  pleasure  of  his  friends.  Indeed,  he  had  nothing 
but  happy  days  there,  and  the  place  when  he  had  left 
it  behind  was  remembered  in  a  rose-coloured  atmo- 
sphere, the  rose  of  the  frosty  sunsets  and  the  wild  dawns, 
with  Susan,  efficient  and  comely,  as  a  centre  of  satisfaction. 


CHAPTEE  III 

SANCHO'S   FLOGGING 

THERE  was  no  need  to  leave  Sancho  behind  when  Dick 
went  to  the  Stone  Farm,  and  that  was  something  that 
was  additionally  pleasant  to  the  dog's  master,  whose 
attachment  to  his  dumb  friend  was  very  great. 

Dick  would  expatiate  boyishly  on  Sancho' s  fascina- 
tions to  a  circle  that  liked  him  too  well  to  grow  tired 
of  listening  to  him. 

"I've  known  a  great  many  dogs,"  he  would  say, 
letting  Sancho's  delightful  ears  drop  through  his  fingers, 
"and  they  were  invariably  gentlemen  and  good  fellows 
when  they  weren't  ladies.  But  I've  never  known  one 
to  curl  himself  into  your  love  and  consideration  like 
this  one.  I  assure  you,  I  never  find  Sancho  at  my  heels 
without  a  sense  of  personal  compliment." 

More  people  than  Dick  had  felt  the  same  thing 
about  Sancho,  and  had  been  sensibly  flattered  if  the 
dog  showed  them  a  little  more  of  friendship  than  the 
grave,  cheerful,  and  playful  benignity  he  had  for  all 
the  world. 

25 


26  DICK  PENTREATH 

When  Dick  began  to  sort  out  things  for  his  winter 
shoot  at  the  Stone  Farm — he  had  never  run  to  a  valet, 
and  Mrs.  Maidment  was  the  keeper  of  his  wardrobe, 
and  confessed  that  life  would  not  be  the  same  if  she 
had  not  to  put  away  the  master's  clothes  after  him — 
he  would  turn  a  reassuring  smile  on  Sancho,  whose  eyes 
asked  in  a  dumb  anguish  of  apprehension  if  he  were 
to  be  left  behind  this  time. 

"You're  in  the  right  box,  old  chap,"  Dick  would 
say,  heaping  his  dress-shirts  in  a  snowy  drift  on  the 
floor.  "That  excellent  girl  Susan,  good  housekeeper 
as  she  is,  would  be  disappointed  if  she  hadn't  your 
great  old  paws  bringing  her  in  shovelfuls  of  mud. 
You're  coming  with  me,  right  enough!  Don't  you 
remember  the  last  time,  when  she  didn't  see  you  just  at 
first,  and  she  asked  so  anxiously  if  you  were  not  coming?" 

Dick  was  so  accustomed  to  hold  conversations  with 
Sancho  that  the  servants  in  the  house  would  have 
been  quite  lonely  if  they  had  missed  the  high,  cheerful 
monologue,  which  went  on  all  the  time  Dick  was  at 
home,  except  when  he  was  asleep. 

Sancho  thumped  his  tail  hard  on  the  floor  on  this 
occasion,  but  his  eyes  strained  at  his  master's  as  though 
his  dumb  soul  was  struggling  in  bonds. 

Dick  caught  sight  of  the  expression,  and  immediately 
sat  down  on  the  floor,  making  a  cushion  of  the  dress- 
shirts. 


SANCHO'S  FLOGGING  27 

"  What  is  it,  old  fellow  ? "  he  asked,  taking  Sancho's 
paws  and  lifting  them  to  his  shoulders.  "What  are 
you  trying  to  tell  me  ? " 

Sancho  gave  his  master's  cheek  a  deprecatory  lick. 
He  wanted  to  tell  him  that  the  Susan  he  thought  so 
well  of  was  in  his,  Sancho's  opinion,  quite  unworthy 
of  his  master's  consideration.  She  was  all  sweetness 
to  Sancho  before  Dick's  face,  but  let  Dick's  back  be 
turned,  and  it  was  another  matter. 

"  She's  not  the  sort  that  likes  dogs,"  Sancho's  eyes 
said,  "  and  the  sort  that  doesn't  like  them  is  the  wrong 
sort.  Look  at  Lady  Stella,  now.  There's  a  lady  for 
you !  She  never  knows  when  a  dog's  paws  are  muddy 
or  dusty.  That  creature  Susan  found  me  under  your 
bed  one  day  when  you  had  left  me  behind.  She  ran 
at  me  with  the  house-broom,  looking,  oh,  so  wicked ! 
and  I  really  believe  she  would  have  struck  me  if  it 
hadn't  been  that  I  stood  up  and  showed  her  my 
teeth.  She  ran  out  of  the  room  fast  enough  then  and 
shut  the  door  behind  her.  A  bully  is  always  a  coward  ! 
See  how  she  treats  that  poor  old  father  and  mother  of 
hers !  And  those  wretched  dogs  at  the  farm !  Why, 
you  can  see  every  bone  in  their  bodies;  and  if  they 
but  hear  her  voice,  they  fly  into  shelter.  She  won't 
even  have  a  cat  because  she  won't  feed  one.  Don't  be 
deceived  by  her,  I  implore  of  you ! " 

"  Hanged  if  I  know  what  you  mean,  old  chap,"  said 


28  DICK  PENTREATH 

Dick,  looking  into  his  friend's  eyes  with  a  mystified 
gaze.  "  I  wish  you  could  speak.  To  be  sure,  you  do 
your  best  without  speaking.  But  I'm  a  stupid  fellow, 
and  I  can't  understand  you." 

"Does  he  know  he's  going?"  Lady  Stella  asked 
Dick  the  same  afternoon. 

"Trust  him!"  Dick  replied  emphatically.  "He 
can  always  spot  when  I'm  going  to  make  a  move,  and 
a  more  miserable  dog  you  never  beheld  unless  I  can 
tell  him  he's  coming  too.  He  makes  them  all  miserable 
in  the  house  when  I  leave  him  behind." 

"You  must  let  me  have  him  the  next  time." 
Sancho,  with  the  uneasy  sense  a  dog  always  has 
when  he  is  being  talked  about,  moaned  a  little,  and 
turned  an  inquiring  wall-flower  coloured  eye  upwards 
without  moving  his  nose  where  it  was  stretched  on 
his  paws.  "I  think  he  would  be  as  happy  with  me 
as  he  could  be  anywhere  in  your  absence." 

"  It  isn't  the  same  going  without  him,"  Dick  con- 
fessed. 

"  Be  sure  and  look  after  Lydford,"  Lady  Stella  said. 
"  See  that  he  gets  some  sleep.  And  if  you  go  skating 
as  you  did  last  time,  just  see  that  there  are  ladders 
handy,  for  Lydford  always  would  skate  where  the  ice 
was  marked  '  Dangerous.'  And  if  he  falls  in  and  gets 
a  chill,  don't  let  him  do  wild  duck  shooting  by  night 
afterwards." 


SANCHO'S  FLOGGING  29 

She  smiled,  but  there  was  some  real  anxiety  about 
the  brother,  younger  than  herself,  behind  the  smile. 

"  I'll  look  after  him,  never  fear.  As  for  chills,  you 
never  take  them  at  the  farm.  Nor  any  other  of  the 
ills  flesh  is  heir  to.  To  be  sure,  I  had  influenza  there  a 
few  years  ago,  but  Susan's  nursing  pulled  me  through 
in  no  time.  I  really  believe  that  sitting  up  to  your 
knees  in  a  half-frozen  marsh  is  good  for  the  flu'.  I 
never  had  it  so  lightly.  Of  course,  there  was  Susan's 
nursing." 

"  Susan  ? "  Lady  Stella's  finely-marked  eyebrows 
rose  in  a  question.  "  The  woman  at  the  farm  ? " 

"  The  woman  at  the  farm's  daughter,  a  most  capable, 
good  creature.  I  never  saw  the  woman  herself,  or 
hardly  saw  her.  She  and  the  old  man  live  somewhere 
in  the  back  regions.  Casaubon  penetrated  there  and 
made  a  little  picture  in  coloured  chalks.  A  roaring  fire, 
and  white  walls  and  a  red  floor,,  and  the  old  couple 
sitting  in  their  chairs.  Wonderfully  pretty  !  You'd  be 
interested  in  Susan.  From  what  I  can  gather,  the  poor 
girl  has  had  to  take  the  whole  burden  of  the  place  on 
herself.  She  has  been  working  like  a  black  since  she 
was  a  child.  And,  by  Jove,  the  place  is  a  credit  to  her ! 
You  and  Mrs.  Ludlow  must  come  down  there  some 
time,  Lady  Stella.  Susan  would  put  her  best  foot  fore- 
most to  do  honour  to  the  occasion." 

"  Pretty  ? "  Lady  Stella  asked.    There  was  an  odd 


30  DICK  PENTREATH 

little  note  of  anxiety  in  her  voice  which  might  have 
been  there  for  her  brother.  She  remembered  now  that 
Arthur  had  not  spoken  of  Susan,  and  Arthur  was  not 
reticent. 

"Pretty,"  Dick  repeated  after  her.  "Upon  my 
word,  I  don't  know  if  I've  thought  about  Susan's  being 
pretty.  All  women  are  pretty,  aren't  they  ?  unless 
they're  objectionable  in  other  ways ;  at  least,  they  are  to 
me.  Ask  the  Duke,  he'll  know  better.  Awfully  clean, 
you  know,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  But  pretty  ?  I 
don't  know  about  pretty." 

Lady  Stella  sent  one  glance  at  Dick's  heart-whole 
face  and  candid  eyes,  and  was  satisfied  so  far  as  he  was 
concerned. 

When  they  were  at  the  farm  that  year  young 
Casaubon,  a  youth  from  Sandhurst  with  a  pretty  taste 
for  art,  which  sometimes  kept  him  at  home  painting 
inviting  bits  of  the  house  and  its  surroundings  when  the 
others  were  out  shooting  over  the  marshes,  said  some- 
thing flippant  about  Susan. 

"  If  you  can't  behave  yourself  properly,  Teddy," 
said  Dick,  gently,  while  a  little  colour  came  to  his 
cheek,  "  I  shan't  be  able  to  ask  you  to  join  us  next 
year.  I've  known  Susan  for  several  years  now,  and 
know  her  to  be  a  thoroughly  good  girl.  I  should  be 
sorry  if  a  guest  of  mine  were  rude  to  her." 

"Lori"   said  Teddy,  opening  his  round  eyes   to 


SANCHO'S  FLOGGING  31 

their  roundest.  "I'm  sure  I  didn't  mean  any  harm, 
old  fellow." 

Dick  said  no  more,  but  after  that  he  insisted  on 
Teddy  making  one  of  the  guns  day  after  day,  no  matter 
how  plaintively  the  young  gentleman  declared  that  he 
was  much  happier  over  his  brilliant  little  sketches. 
Nor  even  when  he  had  a  real  or  assumed  cold  did 
Dick's  heart  melt. 

"  Our  business  here  is  shooting,"  Dick  said,  "  not 
lounging  about  the  house,  hindering  Susan  at  her  work. 
If  you're  too  ill  to  shoot,  you'd  better  go  home  and  be 
nursed,  and  read  for  your  exam.,  as  you  ought  to  be 
doing  now." 

Teddy's  cold  disappeared  after  this  with  the  most 
amazing  rapidity.  Dick  very  seldom  asserted  himself 
in  opposition  to  anybody  else's  wishes,  but  when  he  did 
he  could  be  like  adamant. 

"You  don't  think  he's  sweet  on  Susan  himself?" 
suggested  the  Hon.  Eollo  Grantley,  a  chum  of  Teddy's, 
who  was  one  of  the  shooting  party. 

"Not  he,"  answered  Teddy.  "He's  only  just  a 
bloomin'  old  Don  Quixote." 

"Who's  he?"  asked  Mr.  Grantley,  who  was  less 
intellectual  even  than  Teddy  himself. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Teddy,  vaguely — he  didn't 
know  much  of  the  Don  beyond  his  name — "he 
doesn't  belong  to  these  parts.  He's  a  man  in  a  book, 


32  DICK  PENTREATH 

in  fact.  It  would  take  me  too  long  to  tell  you  about 
him." 

"  A  book ! "  said  young  Grantley,  with  withering 
contempt.  "  I  never  read  any  book  but  Ruff's  Guide. 
I  don't  suppose  you  will  either,  once  you've  scraped 
through." 

"  If  I  ever  do  scrape  through,"  said  Teddy,  cheer- 
fully. 

That  year,  from  one  cause  or  another,  the  shooting 
party  broke  up  earlier  than  usual,  till  at  the  end 
Dick  was  left  alone  at  the  farm,  with  only  Sancho  to 
accompany  him  while  he  shot  his  last  birds  for  the 
season. 

During  these  days  Susan  excelled  herself  in 
the  daintiness  of  her  cooking,  the  brightness  of  her 
fires,  her  thoughtfulness  for  all  Dick's  needs  and 
likings. 

It  came  to  the  last  evening  of  all,  and  Dick  was 
eating  his  solitary  dinner  by  the  light  of  a  couple  of 
candles  in  old  plated  candlesticks,  supplemented  by 
the  great  orange  glow  which  the  beams  of  old  ship's 
timber  burning  on  the  hearth  sent  about  the  beautiful 
room. 

Susan  had  brought  him  his  cup  of  black  coffee,  and 
was  standing  by  the  end  of  the  table,  answering  some 
question  he  had  asked  her,  while  Sancho,  sitting  beside 
Dick  on  the  oak  settle,  showed  baleful  fires  in  the  eyes 


SANCHO'S  FLOGGING  33 

that  were  usually  so  friendly.  It  might  have  been  the 
reflection  of  the  fire  that  made  the  dull  flat  glare  in  the 
dog's  eyes.  Anyhow,  Susan,  noticing  it,  drew  back  a 
little  bit. 

"  I'm  afraid  of  Sancho,  sir,"  she  said. 

"What,  afraid  of  Sancho!  I  never  knew  Sancho 
to  hurt  any  one  or  want  to  do  it.  There's  some  mis- 
understanding between  you  and  Sancho,  Susan.  You 
ought  to  like  each  other  very  much.  Come  and  make 
friends  with  him.  Now,  Sancho,  give  your  hand. 
Shake  hands  with  Susan." 

He  seized  Susan  by  her  unwilling  hand  and  drew 
her  a  little  nearer.  It  was  not  an  ill-shaped  hand, 
although  reddened  and  coarsened  by  hard  work.  The 
arm  was  round  and  white  where  the  sleeve  fell  away 
from  it. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  growl  and  a  spring,  and 
Sancho's  teeth  had  bitten  into  Susan's  arm  just  above 
the  wrist.  Dick  was  too  late  in  dragging  Sancho  back 
by  his  collar.  Susan  had  received  a  mark  that  she 
would  carry  to  her  grave. 

"  Good  Heavens  !  "  cried  Dick,  beside  himself  with 
horror.  "  I  never  knew  him  to  do  such  a  thing  before. 
You're  not  going  to  faint,  Susan,  are  you  ?  My  poor 
child,  sit  down  here  and  take  this." 

He  pushed  her  gently  on  to  the  settle  and  held  a 
glass  of  wine  to  her  lips.  Susan  had  really  gone  near 

D 


34  DICK   PENTREATH 

to  fainting.  She  had  an  antipathy  for  dogs,  and  was 
dreadfully  frightened. 

However,  the  wine  brought  back  the  colour  to  her 
cheeks.  In  her  momentary  paleness  she  had  looked 
almost,  nay,  quite  pretty,  Dick  thought,  the  memory 
of  Lady  Stella's  question  recurring  oddly  to  his  mind. 
She  leant  back  against  the  dark  oak  wainscotting, 
with  her  eyes  closed,  and  the  firelight  was  in  her  hair  ; 
her  lips  were  a  little  apart  over  her  white  teeth.  She 
sighed  heavily. 

"  I  am  going  to  suck  this  bite,  Susan,"  said  Dick, 
kneeling  down  beside  her.  "  Not  that  I'm  afraid  of 
Sancho's  being  mad,  but  as  a  precaution  lest  his  teeth 
should  not  be  quite  clean.  Then  I  am  going  to  wash 
and  bandage  it." 

She  remained  quite  still  while  he  sucked  the  wound 
in  her  arm.  As  he  did  it,  he  was  conscious  of  a  sudden, 
subtle  thrill  that  ran  through  him.  He  had  led  a 
singularly  simple  and  innocent  life.  Indeed,  people 
had  been  known  to  call  Dick  Pentreath  cold,  because 
he  was  so  untouched  by  women  while  so  tender  in  his 
manner  to  them.  He  had  never  touched  a  woman's 
arm  before,  and  he  felt  the  contact  of  the  cool,  firm 
flesh  for  the  moment  intoxicating. 

He  pulled  himself  together  with  a  shake  of  his  head 
and  shoulders,  and  proceeded  soberly  to  wash  the  wound 
and  bind  it  up.  He  had  nothing  but  his  handkerchief 


SANCHO'S   FLOGGING  35 

to  make  a  bandage  of,  and  he  used  that.  When  he  had 
done  the  bandaging  with  careful,  clumsy  kindness,  he 
stood  looking  down  at  Susan.  Her  eyes  were  still 
closed,  and  there  was  a  glitter  as  of  tears  between  the 
lashes. 

"  Poor  little  Susan  !  "  he  said ;  "  poor  little  girl ! " 

Then — afterwards  he  thought  he  must  have  been 
mad — he  stooped  and  kissed  Susan. 

"  You  mustn't  do  that,  sir !  "  she  said,  opening  her 
eyes  and  fixing  them  on  him  for  an  instant. 

Again  he  felt  that  sharp  rush  of  the  blood  through 
his  veins.  But  already  in  his  heart  he  was  heaping 
contempt  and  insult  on  himself  for  the  folly  he  had 
committed. 

"  Forgive  me,  Susan,"  he  said  humbly.  "  I  didn't 
mean  to  be  rude ;  indeed,  I  didn't.  It  was  only  because 
I  was  so  sorry  for  you.  I  don't  know  how  I  came  to 
do  it.  It  will  never  happen  again." 

He  wanted  to  kick  himself  as  he  stood  pouring  out 
apologies,  red-faced  and  miserable,  while  Susan  stood 
with  her  head  drooped  modestly,  looking  through  her 
tears  at  the  fold  of  her  skirt,  which  she  was  pleating 
and  unpleating.  It  was  wonderful  how  well  Susan 
did  it,  considering  all  things. 

Suddenly  she  started.  "  My  mother  will  be  wonder- 
ing why  I  don't  bring  the  plates,"  she  said.  "  Excuse 
me,  sir,  I  must  go." 


36  DICK  PENTREATH 

"  But  you'll  forgive  me,  Susan  ? " 

She  seemed  to  lean  a  little  nearer  to  him.  If  Teddy 
Casaubon  had  been  in  his  place,  he  would  have  under- 
stood what  it  meant ;  but  Dick  was  a  baby  in  the  ways 
of  women  as  compared  with  Teddy. 

"  I  do  forgive  you,  sir,"  she  said,  after  a  little  pause. 
"  And  before  I  go,  sir,  I'd  like  to  ask  you  to  forgive 
the  dog." 

Dick's  face  suddenly  became  stern.  He  had  for- 
gotten Sancho,  who  had  retired  to  the  other  side  of  the 
kitchen  and  was  sitting  bolt  upright,  with  the  most 
unregenerate  emotions  plainly  to  be  read  in  his  face. 

"  You  are  very  good,  Susan,"  he  said,  "  but  I  can't 
forgive  Sancho.  He  has  behaved  like  a  brute,  and  he 
has  got  to  take  his  thrashing.  I  can't  understand  it, 
for  he  has  always  been  so  gentle." 

After  Susan  had  gone  away  Dick  found  a  whip 
which  answered  his  purpose.  It  had  been  used  not 
for  Sancho  who  had  never  needed  flogging,  but  for 
Lord  Freyke's  bull-terriers,  who  accompanied  their 
master  everywhere  and  were  as  quarrelsome  as  they 
were  handsome. 

"Come,  Sancho,"  he  said,  looking  at  the  dog  for 
the  first  time.  "  I  am  going  to  thrash  you." 

Sancho  followed  him  from  the  room  into  the  hall 
and  out  by  the  hall-door,  of  which  Dick  took  down  the 
bolts,  into  the  night.  It  was  a  bitterly  cold  night  with 


SANCHO'S  FLOGGING  37 

a  great  white  moon  in  a  sky  dark-steel  and  studded  with 
fine  little  points  of  light.  They  went  a  little  way  from 
the  farm,  out  of  sight  and  hearing  of  it,  and  then,  paus- 
ing beside  a  shrubbery  of  holly  and  spruce  and  laurels 
Dick  took  Sancho  by  the  collar. 

The  unresistingness  of  the  dog  smote  his  heart. 
Then  he  remembered  the  blood  spurting  from  Susan's 
arm,  and  his  face  hardened.  Even  the  agonized  appeal 
in  the  dog's  eyes  passed  him  by.  Sancho  had  earned 
his  flogging  and  should  take  it.  He  had  never  had  to 
flog  him  before,  not  even  when  he  was  a  puppy.  But 
the  savage  that  for  one  mysterious  moment  had  taken 
possession  of  the  dog  must  be  cowed  for  ever. 

It  was  a  tremendous  flogging.  When  it  was  done, 
the  dog  crawled  away  miserably  to  the  house,  and  Dick, 
with  his  passion  dead  in  him,  followed  him  as  miserably. 

They  went  upstairs  to  bed  together.  Sancho  crept 
into  a  corner  of  the  room  and  lay  there  shivering  and 
moaning.  Dick  went  to  bed,  but  could  not  sleep.  So 
many  queer  things  had  happened.  Sancho  had  bitten 
Susan,  and  he  had  flogged  Sancho,  and  for  a  moment, 
most  unbelievable  thing  of  all,  he,  Dick  Pentreath,  had 
lost  his  head  over  Susan.  There  was  something  else 
too  that  troubled  him  as  he  lay  sleepless  in  bed,  looking 
up  at  the  white  moonlight  on  the  ceiling. 

He  was  no  longer  angry  with  Sancho.  It  had  been 
his  own  fault  for  forcing  the  dog,  who  had  always  shown 


38  DICK  PENTREATH 

dislike.  An  explanation  of  Sancho's  inexplicable  fury 
flashed  upon  him. 

"Jealousy,"  he  said  to  himself.  "Yes,  that  must 
be  it.  I  suppose  it's  a  horrible  pain,  whether  in  dogs 
or  men." 

His  heart  grew  softer  towards  Sancho ;  presently  in 
the  night  and  silence  it  began  to  bleed  for  the  hard  thing 
he  had  had  to  do  to  his  friend. 

"It  wasn't  his  hide,"  he  muttered  to  himself. 
"  Sancho  wouldn't  have  minded  if  it  was  only  his  hide. 
It  was  his  heart  that  took  the  flogging.  Poor  old  chap, 
he  is  broken-hearted." 

He  sat  up  in  bed  and  called  Sancho  softly  by  his 
name.  The  dog  rose,  shook  his  sore  body,  and  came 
towards  the  bed. 

"  Up ! "  said  Dick. 

Sancho  sprang  on  the  bed.  Dick  put  his  two  arms 
about  the  great  neck  and  hid  his  face  in  the  white 
satin  coat. 

"  I  had  to  do  it,  old  fellow,"  he  said.  "  Can  you 
ever  forgive  me  ? " 

Sancho  sighed,  but  this  time  it  was  with  rapture. 
They  were  lovers  once  again,  and  the  communion 
between  heart  and  heart,  as  he  sat  up  in  the  moonlight 
with  Dick's  arms  about  his  neck,  was  exquisite  to 
Sancho,  and  scarcely  less  so  to  Dick. 

"  This  is  no  place  for  either  of  us,"  whispered  Dick 


SANCHO'S  FLOGGING  39 

to  the  flapping  ear.  "  We'll  have  to  say  good-bye  to 
the  Stone  Farm.  That  poor  little  girl  Susan ;  so  you 
couldn't  forgive  her  for  liking  your  master  too  well. 
Wasn't  it  hard  enough  on  her  ?  It's  been  a  pleasant 
place,  Sancho,  but  we  must  say  good-bye  to  it,  you  and 
I.  Poor  little  Susan ! " 

Sancho  hardly  heard  these  confidences.  His  happy 
heart  was  beating  so  loudly  that  it  was  like  a  sledge- 
hammer in  his  ears ;  besides  which,  Dick  had  his  face 
pressed  against  the  ear.  If  he  had  known  what  Dick 
was  telling  him,  it  would  have  been  an  added  drop  in 
his  overflowing  cup  of  happiness.  It  had  been  un- 
endurable to  him  to  see  his  master  with  Susan.  He 
could  have  told  him  stories  about  Susan  and  those 
heedless  boys.  Sancho  knew  the  difference  between  a 
lady,  or  even  a  modest  girl  of  humble  degree,  and  such 
a  one  as  Susan. 

If  but  Sancho  could  have  spoken,  how  very  differently 
might  things  have  happened ! 


CHAPTER  IV 

IN  THE  FOG 

DICK  went  up  to  town  the  next  day  with  Sancho.  He 
would  not  look  at  Susan  while  he  said  farewell,  although 
he  was  horribly  conscious  of  her  eyes  swimming  in 
tears,  and  the  agitated  heavings  of  her  neat  pink  print 
bodice.  He  felt  a  brute  for  being  so  glad  to  escape; 
but  he  was  glad.  During  those  last  hours  while  he 
stayed  he  had  a  feeling  of  being  in  imminent  danger,  a 
danger  which  he  dared  not  formulate  to  himself,  and 
from  which  he  must  escape  with  all  speed  he  could. 
He  was  so  glad  to  be  free  that  he  could  have  sung 
aloud  when  the  station-fly  carried  him  out  of  sight  of 
that  neat  pink  figure. 

When  he  left  the  farm  there  was  a  white  fog  over 
the  marshes,  which  grew  thicker  and  thicker  as  the 
train  neared  London ;  for  the  last  miles  of  the  journey, 
when  the  way  run  between  mean  houses,  the  sordid 
world  was  completely  blotted  out.  It  was  bitterly 
cold  too,  fog  and  frost  together ;  and  the  fog  threatened 
to  become  thicker  towards  nightfall. 

40 


IN  THE  FOG  41 

Even  the  winking  violet-blue  electric  lights  in  the 
great  station  were  so  shrouded  by  the  fog  that  they 
were  only  visible  as  a  haze  of  light  unless  one  stood 
quite  close  to  them.  The  fog  filled  the  high-arched 
roof,  and  wavered  about  overhead  in  the  draughts 
created  by  the  trains,  a  hideous  yellow  curtain  of 
impalpable  stuff  that  made  the  eyes  smart  and  brought 
a  choking  sensation  in  the  throat 

"  We're  in  for  a  good  old  London  particular,"  Dick 
said  to  Sancho,  light-heartedly,  as  the  train  drew  up  at 
the  platform  and  he  turned  the  handle  of  the  carriage 
door  to  open  it. 

The  fog  rather  exhilarated  Dick  than  otherwise. 
Outside,  the  streets  would  be  midnight-dark,  with  all 
landmarks  blotted  out,  a  city  of  dreadful  night,  except- 
ing only  where  the  brilliant  shop-lights  had  power  to 
pierce  through  the  fog.  Where  there  were  no  shops 
it  would  be  darkness  indeed,  impenetrable  darkness  in 
which  the  street-lamps  would  only  reveal  themselves 
as  little  patches  of  light  to  be  swallowed  up  by  the  fog 
immediately  one  had  left  them  behind. 

"  We'd  better  walk,  Sancho,"  Dick  said  cheerfully. 
"  We'll  be  just  as  quick  as  the  crawling  cabs,  if  we 
could  get  a  cab,  and  much  safer.  We  may  get  to 
Victoria  in  time  for  a  train.  On  the  other  hand  we 
may  not,  in  which  case  we  shall  have  to  find  a  hotel." 

Somewhere,  out  of  sight  and   unspoken  of,  there 


42  DICK   PENTREATH 

was  a  deal  of  simple  pride  in  Dick  Pentreath.  He 
was  proud  of  those  who  had  gone  before  him.  The 
women  had  been  beautiful  and  virtuous  ;  the  men  had 
been  honourable  and  respected — some  had  served  their 
country  with  renown  as  soldiers  and  sailors  and  ad- 
ministrators, if  not  one  of  them  had  had  the  gift  of 
heaping  up  money.  He  delighted  in  his  honourable 
name  without  being  positively  conscious  of  the  feeling  ; 
as  he  revelled  in  fresh  air  and  exercise,  and  sunshine, 
without  analysing  his  pleasure.  He  thought  with  a 
quick  shudder  of  terror  of  men  who  had  inherited  a 
disgrace,  of  men  who  had  brought  disgrace  to  an 
honourable  name.  "  Poor  devils !  "  Dick  had  said  to 
himself,  sitting  in  the  cold  railway-carriage  staring  out 
at  the  fog ;  "  how  could  such  things  be  endured  ? " 
He  knew  of  men  who  had  married  variety  actresses 
and  barmaids,  and  had  wondered  at  them;  now  his 
wonder  was  less,  but  his  fastidious  revolt  was  even 
greater.  Supposing  one  had  been  carried  away  by 
passion,  and  had  asked  even  a  good  humble  little  thing 
like  Susan  to  marry  one?  What  a  mess  one  would 
have  made  of  one's  life !  It  would  be  almost  as  bad 
as  the  variety  actress  or  the  barmaid. 

His  thoughts  had  gone  on  to  his  mother's  picture 
where  it  hung  in  the  library  at  Oakhurst,  so  fair,  so 
innocent,  so  gentle,  in  her  white  silk  dress,  with  the 
pearls  about  her  slender  neck.  Imagine  bringing  home 


IN  THE   FOG  43 

a  peasant  to  Oakhurst !  He  knew  better  now  how  such 
things  happened  to  other  men ;  and  he  drew  a  long 
breath  of  relief  as  he  remembered  that  Oakhurst  and 
the  Stone  Farm  had  more  than  a  hundred  miles 
between  them,  and  that  he  had  said  good-bye  to  the 
farm  for  ever. 

He  handed  over  his  luggage  to  a  porter  to  be  sent 
after  him,  retaining  only  a  small  bag  which  he  could 
carry  in  his  hand.  Then  he  turned  to  leave  the  station. 

He  had  left  the  platform  behind  and  was  going 
towards  the  steep  incline  which  led  up  from  the  station 
when  he  was  arrested  by  a  face.  It  was  the  face  of  a 
girl  who  was  standing  nearly  under  one  of  the  electric 
lights  with  her  profile  turned  towards  him.  She  seemed 
waiting  for  some  one.  A  flat  basket,  from  which  some 
flowers  and  vegetables  protruded,  was  at  her  feet. 

Dick  stopped  suddenly  and  drew  back  into  the 
shade  of  a  pillar,  from  which  he  might  look  at  the  girl 
without  her  seeing  him. 

The  face  gave  him  an  actual  shock  of  pleasure. 
He  felt  as  though  he  had  been  expecting  that  face 
through  all  the  years  of  his  youth,  and  it  had  come  at 
last.  Amid  all  that  murk  it  seemed  to  Dick  the  one 
light  and  bright  thing  in  the  station.  The  profile 
glimmered  out  of  the  fog  like  a  pearl,  like  a  white 
flower.  Dick  grew  poetical. 

It  was  a  very  sweet,  very  composed  face,  pale  yet 


44  DICK   PENTREATH 

warmly  tinted,  the  face  of  a  girl  in  the  early  twenties, 
mature  for  her  age.  The  little  straight  nose,  the  round 
chin,  the  tender,  grave  mouth,  the  rippled  hair  above 
the  little  ears,  were  all  exquisite.  Her  eyes  were  in 
the  shadow  of  her  flat  velvet  cap,  but  Dick  could 
imagine  her  eyes.  They  would  be  blue;  no,  they 
would  be  grey,  and  their  expression  would  be  heavenly. 

She  stood  there  motionless,  not  looking  from  side 
to  side,  but  a  little  upwards,  as  though  she  was  occu- 
pied with  her  thoughts  and  her  thoughts  were  winged 
ones. 

He  noticed  the  details  of  her  dress,  something 
grey  and  modest  and  well-fitting,  with  a  stole  of  grey 
fur  that  fell  away  from  her  slender  neck.  Her  grey- 
gloved  hands  touched  each  other  lightly  at  the  finger- 
tips. Ah !  now  she  moved,  and  Dick  was  certain  that 
her  eyes  were  grey.  To  be  sure,  he  could  not  see  them 
at  all  at  this  distance,  but  he  said  to  himself  that  they 
were  quiet  as  deep  waters. 

He  sighed  unconsciously,  and  Sancho  thrust  an 
inquiring  nose  into  his  hand. 

"  Ah,  moon  of  my  delight ! "  he  said,  under  his 
breath,  not  knowing  where  he  had  found  the  words. 
And  to  think  of  seeing  her  first  at  Liverpool  Street 
Station  in  the  fog ! 

She  was  looking  alert  now.  The  person  she  had 
waited  for  was  coming. 


IN  THE  FOG  45 

He  left  his  pillar  and  walked  slowly  in  her  direction. 
An  elderly  woman,  who  might  be  a  trusted  servant,  had 
come  up  and  lifted  the  basket. 

"  It's  no  use,  Miss  Dorothea,"  she  said.  "  There 
isn't  a  cab  to  be  had,  and  the  'buses  are  stopped  run- 
ning. Unless  we  stay  here  till  the  fog  is  over  we'd 
better  walk." 

He  turned  and  came  back  again. 

"Then  we'd  better  walk,  Jane,"  said  the  girl's 
voice,  a  voice  which  matched  her  face,  soft,  yet  with 
delicate  silvery  tones  in  it. 

"Do  you  think  we'd  better,  miss?"  asked  the 
woman,  nervously. 

"  There  is  nothing  else  to  be  done.  The  fog  won't 
lift  to-night.  Come  along,  Jane.  It  may  not  be  as 
bad  as  we  think." 

He  blessed  the  thought  that  had  ridded  him  of  his 
luggage,  and  left  him  free  to  follow  them  and  protect 
them.  His  heart  burnt  within  him  at  the  considera- 
tion of  the  perils  that  might  lurk  in  a  London  fog  for 
a  creature  so  beautiful  and  fearless,  with  only  the  pro- 
tection of  an  elderly  woman-servant.  Thank  Heaven 
he  and  Sancho  were  there  to  watch  over  her ! 

He  followed  at  as  discreet  a  distance  as  might  be, 
seeing  the  density  of  the  fog ;  but  that  was  only  a  few 
feet,  because  it  would  be  so  easy  to  lose  sight  of  them. 

They  turned   eastward  after  leaving  the    station 


46  DICK  PENTBEATH 

behind,  and  he  wondered.  What  could  she  be  doing  in 
the  murky  East  ?  Something  came  into  his  head  about 
the  Star  of  the  East,  and  he  smiled  to  himself.  To  be 
sure,  his  day-star  had  risen  in  the  east,  and  it  would 
never  again  be  murky  for  him. 

The  streets  were  wrapped  in  the  quietness  of  the 
fog.  The  banks  and  insurance  offices  might  have 
locked  up  and  gone  home,  for  the  blackness  on  either 
side  of  the  path ;  but  this  was  a  region  of  much  wealth, 
and  so  a  good  many  policemen  were  to  be  met  with 
who  were  ready  to  set  strayed  people  in  the  right  way. 
Occasionally  the  lights  of  a  crawling  cab  appeared  out 
of  the  darkness  and  were  swallowed  up  again.  Once  or 
twice  the  two  figures  in  front  seemed  baffled  and  stopped 
in  consultation  before  going  on.  Once  or  twice  they 
consulted  a  policeman  before  proceeding. 

Beyond  Aldgate  Station  it  was  better.  They  were 
in  the  flare  of  the  lighted  shops  now,  and  that  lasted  all 
down  the  "Whitechapel  Eoad. 

About  half-way  of  that  broad  thoroughfare  the  two 
crossed.  Here,  despite  the  breadth  of  the  street,  it  was 
not  obscure,  because  of  the  lights  in  front  of  the  shops 
and  the  unsteady  naphtha  flares  of  the  costers'  barrows. 

It  was  the  darker  when  they  stepped  into  a  quiet 
street  on  the  other  side.  They  seemed  to  have  entered 
a  solid  world  of  fog ;  and  Dick,  pressing  on,  was  obliged 
to  trust  rather  to  his  hearing  than  his  sight  to  know 


IN  THE  FOG  47 

that  he  had  not  lost  them.  Even  his  hearing  was  at 
fault,  for  the  fog  seemed  to  swathe  all  the  senses  in 
its  deadness — as  well  hear  if  one's  head  was  wrapped 
about  with  dirty  cotton  wooL 

Suddenly  the  sound  of  the  footsteps  in  front  ceased, 
and  at  the  same  moment  Sancho  uttered  a  low,  angry 
growl. 

Dick  hurled  himself  forward  to  where  a  street  lamp 
suddenly  came  out  of  the  fog.  By  its  light  he  saw  the 
two  figures  he  had  been  tracking.  Some  one  had  inter- 
cepted them,  a  man  with  greasy  black  curls  and  ear- 
rings. He  was  barring  their  way  apparently  while 
they  tried  to  pass.  In  a  second  he  would  have  touched 
her,  when  Dick  was  at  her  side,  and  Sancho  was  leaping 
like  a  wolf  out  of  the  darkness. 

At  sight  of  the  dog  the  fellow  uttered  a  howl  and 
fled.  Dick  caught  Sancho,  as  he  would  have  followed 
him. 

"  I  hope  he  did  not  frighten  you  very  much  ? "  he 
said,  looking  into  the  girl's  pale  face.  "  I  ought  to  have 
killed  him,  but  he  wouldn't  be  worth  standing  one's 
trial  for  manslaughter  for. —  Quiet,  old  fellow!"  to 
Sancho. 

The  girl's  eyes  looked  at  him,  wild  with  fear. 

"  I  thought  we  should  be  safe  here,"  she  said  with  a 
gasp.  "  It  is  my  father's  parish,  but,  of  course,  there 
are  bad  neighbourhoods " 


48  DICK  PENTREATH 

"  I  am  going  to  see  you  home,"  said  Dick,  quietly. 
He  had  a  thought  that  the  ruffian  might  return  rein- 
forced. "  It  is  not  safe  for  you,  indeed,  in  this  fog ;  but 
with  Sancho  and  me  you  are  quite  safe." 

He  hurried  them  along.  One  or  two  more  turnings 
brought  them  to  their  journey's  end.  There  was  an 
open  hall-door  with  a  bright  light  beyond ;  as  they 
went  up  the  steps  some  one  came  to  meet  them. 

"  Is  that  you,  my  darling  ? "  asked  a  man's  voice, 
which  had  an  immense  sound  of  relief  in  it.  "  I  was 
just  going  out  to  look  for  you.  The  suspense  has  been 
unbearable." 

"  Oh,  papa !  we  have  been  frightened.  A  man 
stopped  us.  Only  for  this  gentleman " 

"I  am  deeply  obliged  to  you,  sir,"  the  other  said. 

Dick  saw  that  he  was  an  elderly  clergyman,  with  a 
thin  scholarly  face,  benignant  of  aspect. 

The  door  had  closed  behind  them  now,  and  the 
atmosphere  of  the  house  was  delightfully  warm. 

"  I  was  so  glad  to  be  of  any  service,"  said  Dick. 
"  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  believe  it  was  my  dog  and  not  I. 
It  is  wonderful  how  those  ruffians  are  afraid  of  a  dog." 

Dick  was  standing  with  his  hat  in  his  hand  under 
the  light  of  the  hall-lamp. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  come  upstairs  and  tell  us  about 
it  ?  My  wife  will  wish  to  thank  you.  We  have  all 
been  very  anxious  about  Dorothea." 


IN  THE   FOG  49 

As  a  general  rule  the  suggestion  of  being  thanked 
would  have  made  Dick  take  flight  immediately.  Now 
he  did  not  want  to  go.  He  wanted  to  see  more  of 
Dorothea,  to  learn  more  about  her.  For  the  first  time 
he  noticed  that  half  a  dozen  girls,  younger  likenesses  of 
Dorothea,  were  standing  shyly  in  the  background  of  the 
hall,  evidently  in  a  great  state  of  excitement 

"Please  leave  your  hat  here,"  Dorothea's  father 
went  on.  "  You  will  stay  to  dinner  with  us  ?  We  are 
so  much  indebted  to  you.  Indeed,  I  think  Mrs.  Semple 
will  expect  you  to  stay  for  the  night.  I  wouldn't  turn 
out  this  fine  fellow  " — with  a  caress  to  Sancho— "  much 
less  his  master  on  such  a  night." 

"You  are  very  good,"  Dick  said,  feeling  over- 
whelmed. 

What  a  blessed  chance  the  fog  had  proved !  And 
only  for  Dorothea's  fright — already  he  called  her 
Dorothea — what  a  blessed  chance  that  ruffian's  ruffianly 
behaviour  had  been  !  He  had  hoped  for  no  more  than 
to  protect  her  and  find  out  where  she  lived  and  dis- 
cover her  name,  somehow.  And  here  he  was,  caught 
into  the  very  bosom  of  her  family. 

He  followed  his  host  upstairs  with  a  shame- faced 
sense  of  his  own  un worthiness  to  be  so  incredibly  lucky. 
Dorothea  had  already  disappeared,  and  the  other  girls, 
whose  ages  ranged  from  eight  to  eighteen,  had  vanished 
in  all  directions  as  soon  as  they  made  a  move. 

£ 


50  DICK  PENTREATH 

"  I  hope  Mrs.  Seraple  will  not  mind  Sancho,"  said 
Dick.  "  He  is  accustomed  to  following  me  everywhere. 
But  if  you  like — he  is  very  obedient — I  shall  tell  him 
to  wait  for  me  here." 

"  Dear  me,  no ! "  Mr.  Semple  said.  "  That  would 
be  to  requite  the  noble  fellow's  services  very  badly. 
Mrs.  Semple  will  be  delighted.  She  is  devoted  to  dogs." 

Indeed,  the  yap-yapping  of  small  dogs  that  was 
going  on  in  the  distance  would  have  conveyed  that  fact 
to  Dick  without  more  explicit  information. 

He  followed  Mr.  Semple  into  a  big  homely,  com- 
fortable room,  from  which  a  roaring  wood  fire  had 
almost  banished  the  fog.  Bound  the  room  the  girls 
he  had  seen  downstairs  were  sitting  demurely,  each 
with  a  dog  in  her  lap.  The  yapping  broke  out  so 
furiously  as  Sancho  made  his  appearance  that  each  fled 
precipitately  with  her  charge  without  waiting  to  be 
introduced.  There  were  all  manner  of  things  lying 
about  the  room,  which  showed  it  to  be  in  constant 
occupation — an  open  piece  of  music  on  the  piano,  a 
work-basket  on  one  chair,  a  book  face  downwards  on 
another,  an  exercise-book  on  the  table  with  an  ink- 
bottle,  the  pen  left  in  the  ink.  The  carpets  and 
curtains  were  threadbare;  the  uncomfortable  chairs 
hid  themselves  under  chintz  coverings;  there  were 
books  all  round  the  wall,  and  pictures  on  it.  A 
great  sheaf  of  mimosa  in  a  blue  jar  made  Dick  recall 


IN  THE   FOG  51 

June  at  Oakhurst,  and  the  meadow-sweet  in  all  the 
ditches. 

"Dolly  has  told  me,  sir,"  said  Dorothea's  mother. 
"  How  can  I  ever  thank  you  ? " 

Dick  had  a  momentary  wonder  as  to  how  Dorothea 
had  found  time.  He  gave  an  answering  pressure  to 
the  soft  hand  that  was  pressing  his  so  warmly.  He 
looked  into  the  charming  face,  hardly  yet  faded,  and 
more  beautiful  because  of  the  agitation  in  it  at  this 
moment.  At  Dorothea's  age  her  mother  must  have 
been  the  image  of  Dorothea. 

He  shared  the  dinner,  a  somewhat  scrambled  meal, 
but  given  with  such  a  simple  and  kindly  hospitality 
that  it  was  a  banquet.  He  agreed  to  stay  for  the 
night,  as  the  fog  had  settled  down  blacker  than  ever — 
blessed  fog!  He  sat  in  the  untidy,  love-lit  drawing- 
room  after  dinner,  with  Sancho  lying  all  across  the 
white  skin  rug,  and  listened  to  Dorothea  making  music, 
while  her  father  in  his  chair  beat  time  softly,  and  the 
mother  sewed  by  the  lamp  which  had  been  lit  on  a 
small  table  drawn  close  to  her  elbow. 

The  younger  girls  forgot  to  be  shy  of  Dick.  Margery, 
the  youngest,  came  close  to  her  mother's  feet  aud  shared 
the  rug  with  Sancho,  lying  face  downwards  with  her 
chin  propped  on  her  hand,  her  eyes  devouring  an  open 
book.  The  other  girls  came  and  went  quietly.  One 
of  them  sang  after  Dorothea  had  finished  her  music, 


52  DICK  PBNTBEATH 

and  Dorothea  played  the  accompaniment,  her  young, 
luminous  face  in  the  dim  corner  of  the  room  bright  as 
she  leant  within  the  rays  of  the  piano  candles.  The 
dogs  had  come  back,  and  sat  about  in  chairs  watching 
Sancho  with  uneasy  jealousy. 

Evidently  St.  Aldate's  Vicarage  had  no  hidden 
skeletons.  Everything  was  so  cheerful,  so  simple,  so 
intimate.  It  was  the  perfection  of  good  breeding,  the 
way  they  had  taken  this  unexpected  guest.  Their 
obligation  to  him  was  evident  in  the  kind  eyes  of  the 
host  and  hostess.  They  were  so  frankly  interested  in 
him  that  presently  Dick  found  himself  telling  them  all 
about  himself.  It  turned  out  that  Mr.  Semple  knew 
Mr.  Arbuthnot,  the  vicar  at  Greenheys ;  they  had  been 
at  Oxford  together.  They  had  not  altogether  lost  sight 
of  each  other — only  the  weighty  charge  of  his  East  End 
parish  had  kept  Mr.  Semple  from  accepting  Arbuthnot's 
many  invitations  to  his  country  vicarage. 

"  But  you  will  come  now,"  said  Dick.  "  You  must 
come  to  me — and  Mrs.  Semple  too.  Oakhurst  is  much 
as  my  mother  left  it,  and  Mrs.  Maidment,  my  house- 
keeper, knows  how  to  look  after  ladies." 

Yes,  Mr.  Semple  would  come  when  the  year  turned 
round  to  spring.  And  Mrs.  Semple  looked  at  Dick 
with  kind  eyes.  She  had  heard  of  Greenheys  and  its 
quiet  beauty,  and  would  love  to  come.  "And  Miss 
Dorothea  and  her  sisters  ? "  Dick  asked  shyly.  "  I  think 


IN   THE   FOG  53 

Dolly  would  like  to  come,"  said  Mrs.  Semple;  and 
Dorothea  smiled. 

What  had  happened  to  Dick  ?  Was  this  how  people 
felt  when  they  were  in  love?  Why  he  had  never 
lived  before  though  he  had  thought  himself  happy! 
Now  it  was  a  heaven  of  delight  to  sit  there  and  watch 
Dorothea's  young  profile  as  she  sat  holding  a  fan  of 
peacock's  feathers  between  her  face  and  the  flame,  for 
she  had  left  the  piano  and  come  to  her  mother's  side. 

Dorothea  was  telling  them  the  events  of  the  day 
that  had  ended  so  eventfully.  She  had  gone  a  little 
way  into  Essex  with  Jane  to  see  Jane's  sister,  who  had 
been  nurse  to  Dorothea  and  the  elder  ones  before  she 
had  married.  The  sound  of  her  voice  telling  what  things 
Ellen  had  done,  of  the  messages  she  had  sent,  of  what 
spring  flowers  were  out  already  in  the  shady  places  of 
the  garden,  of  her  canary  and  such  simple  things,  made 
Dick's  heart  beat.  He  felt  like  a  young  king  newly 
come  into  his  kingdom.  And  to  think  that  he  had 
thought  himself  happy  only  yesterday ! 


CHAPTEE  V 

FOE  DICK 

DICK  was  inflicting  himself  on  Lady  Stella  as  usual ; 
at  least,  that  was  the  way  he  put  it  to  himself.  Lady 
Stella  never  seemed  to  find  him  an  infliction,  and  was 
listening  now  to  his  description  of  the  Semples  with 
kind  interest,  as  she  had  listened  to  everything  con- 
cerning Dick  for  many  years  past.  Dick  was  as  un- 
conscionable as  other  males  in  such  matters ;  and  since 
the  Duke  had  been  called  away  from  the  luncheon- 
table  to  see  some  one  on  business,  Dick  was  awaiting 
his  return,  or  so  he  would  have  said,  in  Lady  Stella's 
little  morning-room,  which  looked  out  on  a  green 
terrace,  where  a  pair  of  peacocks  were  flashing  all  their 
fans  in  the  sun. 

With  unerring  masculine  instinct  he  had  picked 
out  the  most  comfortable  chair  in  the  room,  and  was 
reclining  in  it  happily.  He  was  quite  innocent,  although 
he  talked  of  infliction,  of  any  fear  that  he  might  stay 
too  long ;  and  in  so  far  he  was  right,  for  Lady  Stella 

54 


FOR  DICK  55 

was  glad  of  the  time  he  stayed,  greedy  of  his  presence, 
even  if  his  topic  was  another  woman. 

His  talk  ranged  with  a  generous  freedom  over  the 
entire  Semple  family.  Never  had  so  many  friendships 
been  made  in  so  short  a  time !  Hermione  and  Hilda, 
Poppy  and  Pansy,  Grace  and  Margery ;  Dick  confessed, 
with  a  laugh,  that  at  first  he  had  not  known  one  young 
girl  from  the  other ;  but  in  course  of  time,  and  a  very 
short  time,  they  had  differentiated  themselves. 

Hermione,  despite  her  name,  was  the  tomboy.  Her 
father,  with  a  hand  on  Hermione's  curls,  told  with  a 
pretended  disapproval  and  real  pride  of  Hermione's 
adventures  during  a  summer  holiday  spent  at  a  farm- 
house— her  riding  of  bare-backed  horses,  her  invasion 
of  a  very  surly  mastiff's  kennel  to  rescue  a  too  daring 
kitten.  Hilda  was  the  clever  person,  with  aspirations 
after  Newnham.  Poppy  took  an  interest  in  politics. 
Pansy  was  the  needlewoman  and  her  mother's  right 
hand.  Grace  was  a  Sister  of  Mercy  at  heart,  and  pined 
for  the  time  when  she  might  do  parish  work.  Margery 
was  the  baby. 

The  dogs,  too,  were  delightful  dogs  once  they  had 
got  over  their  first  irrational  jealousy  of  Sancho. 

The  curate,  who  had  come  in  after  dinner,  was  the 
best  fellow  possible — an  Oxford  blue,  whose  athletic 
training  and  readiness  to  use  his  fists,  if  necessary,  had 
won  him  the  respect  of  his  parishioners. 


56  DICK   PENTREATH 

"  By  Jove ! "  said  Dick,  in  a  state  of  placid  beati- 
tude— Lady  Stella  had  bidden  him  smoke,  and  he  was 
ramming  a  fresh  supply  of  tobacco  into  his  pipe — "  you 
wouldn't  believe  it.  There,  in  that  blanket  of  fog,  you 
couldn't  have  imagined  anything  so  light  and  bright  as 
the  Vicarage  drawing-room — the  Vicar  arguing  some- 
thing learned  with  the  curate,  and  Mrs.  Semple  beam- 
ing on  everybody ;  the  golden  heads  of  the  girls,  and 
the  fire  and  the  lamps,  and  the  clean  white  and  green 
covers  of  the  chairs !  It  made  something  uncommonly 
pleasant,  Lady  Stella.  It  was  home ;  and,  you  see,  I'm 
not  used  to  that." 

His  voice  had  a  sound  of  pity  for  himself,  at  which 
he  would  have  been  the  first  to  laugh  if  he  had  been 
sensible  of  it. 

"  No  ?  "  said  Lady  Stella,  with  a  note  of  interroga- 
tion in  her  voice. 

She  had  known  Dick  to  be  extremely  comfortable, 
not  only  at  Lydford  Towers,  but  at  various  other  houses 
of  the  neighbourhood.  Mrs.  Ludlow,  who  was  a  pretty, 
spirited  young  woman,  petted  and  spoilt  Dick  as  she 
did  Roger,  her  seven-year-old  son.  And  the  Misses 
Marshbanks,  two  old  maiden  ladies  who  lived  in  the 
most  delightful  big  square  house  on  the  hillside,  which 
they  filled  with  dogs,  and  with  children  when  they 
could  beg  or  borrow  them  from  their  friends  and  neigh- 
bours, fussed  over  him  as  they  did  over  no  one  else, 


FOE  DICK  57 

and  were  always  ready  to  put  him  up  and  to  make  him 
free  of  their  game,  to  the  pretended  indignation  of  their 
nephew,  Beauclerk.  Beauclerk  was  a  gay,  briefless 
barrister,  too  much  in  love  with  his  profession  to  come 
and  live  with  his  aunts  and  manage  their  affairs  for 
them,  as  they  were  constantly  urging  him  to  do. 

Lady  Stella's  quiet  lips  took  a  little  curve  of  humour. 
"  Yes  ? "  she  said  again,  lifting  the  fine  eyebrows,  which 
were  her  one  real  beauty.  "  Yes  ?  It  would  not  have 
struck  me  in  that  way." 

Dick  saw  the  curve  and  laughed.  He  was  always 
ready  to  laugh  at  himself  when  the  joke  was  pointed 
out  to  him. 

"  Am  I  talking  like  a  sentimental  ass  ?  "  he  asked ; 
and  was  silent  for  so  many  seconds  that  Lady  Stella 
had  an  uneasy  fear  lest  she  should  have  discouraged 
his  garrulity. 

"To  be  sure,  I  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said. 
"  But  then — you  are  very  much  at  home  with  all  of 
us." 

"  I  wasn't  asking  for  compassion,"  said  Dick.  "  I 
know  I'm  a  jolly  sight  too  well  off." 

He  smelt  with  a  placid  content  at  the  pot  of  lilies 
of  the  valley  which  was  at  his  elbow.  He  looked  round 
the  room  at  the  panels  of  rose  silk  brocade  set  in  the 
white  walls.  There  were  delicate  water-colour  pictures 
between  the  panels,  pictures  that  brought  the  south 


58  DICK   PENTREATH 

and  the  summer  on  the  dullest  day  of  winter.  There 
was  Lady  Stella's  desk,  a  spindle-legged  Sheraton  thing 
starred  with  satin  wood,  her  book-case,  her  work-box, 
her  easel  with  a  half-done  picture  on  it.  Sancho  lay 
before  the  fire  in  company  with  little  Mite,  Lady  Stella's 
Blenheim  spaniel  There  were  growing  flowers  every- 
where. There  were  delicate  colours  and  fabrics.  The 
room  bore  the  stamp  of  its  mistress's  individuality — 
simple  and  distinguished  and  kind. 

"  I  should  be  the  most  ungrateful  fellow  hi  the 
world  if  I  did  not  remember  the  many  times  I  have 
been  at  home  here,"  he  said,  with  a  grateful  look  which 
brought  a  pleased  softness  to  Lady  Stella's  brown  eyes. 

Already  she  had  imagined  Dorothea  Semple  in  her 
own  inind.  The  pale  golden  silk-soft  hair,  the  exquisite 
complexion,  the  large,  austere  grey  eyes,  the  mouth 
that  was  at  once  sweet  and  stern;  no,  stern  was  too 
hard  a  word,  but  Dick  could  not  find  another.  The 
lover  had  rendered  his  lady's  charms  with  an  exact 
fidelity.  Even  the  blue  dress — a  lovely  blue,  Dick 
said,  with  a  sort  of  mist  over  it — its  fichu  and  hanging 
sleeves  of  white  silk,  he  had  not  forgotten. 

Lady  Stella  sighed  under  her  breath,  but  light  as 
the  sigh  was,  Dick  heard  it  and  turned  to  look  at  her. 

"  Tired  ? "  he  asked,  with  a  tender  intonation  in  his 
voice. 

It  never  occurred  to  him  that  she  could  be  tired 


FOR  DICK  59 

of  him.  They  were  too  good  comrades  for  that.  The 
Duke  was  a  long  time  with  his  man.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  the  Duke,  in  the  pursuit  of  some  bullocks  he 
particularly  desired,  had  walked  far  afield  with  the 
stranger  and  forgotten  all  about  Dick  Pentreath. 

"  You  should  know  that  I  am  never  tired,"  Lady 
Stella  answered  him  brightly. 

She  drew  her  embroidery-frame  close  to  the  fire 
and  began  to  pick  out  her  silks.  She  glanced  at  the 
tiny  clock  on  the  mantelpiece. 

"  Better  make  an  afternoon  of  it  now,  Dick,"  she 
said.  It  was  the  privilege  of  her  seniority  to  call  Dick 
by  his  name.  "Stay  to  tea.  I  am  expecting  Mabel 
Kingscote  and  her  brothers.  Stay  as  long  as  you  like ! 
We  all  dine  at  the  Manor  House  this  evening,  I 
know ;  but  you  can  stay  till  it  is  time  to  go  home  and 
dress." 

"  You  couldn't  propose  anything  better,"  said  Dick, 
in  lazy  contentment.  "  Jolly  little  thing,  Mabel  Kings- 
cote  !  And  pretty  too !  I  like  those  brats  of  brothers 
of  hers.  You  should  see  them  coming  down  Fursenden 
Hill  on  their  bicycles !  They  might  have  been  smashed 
to  pieces  if  a  farm  cart  happened  to  be  coming  up ;  or 
they  might  have  smashed  me  to  pieces  if  I'd  happened 
to  be  driving  or  riding  instead  of  walking  soberly  with 
Sancho.  I  thought  of  that  poor  little  mother  of  theirs." 

"Mrs.  Kingscote  puts  her  trust  in  Heaven  when 


60  DICK  PENTRBATH 

her  children  are  out  of  her  sight,  or  even  when  they're 
in  it,  sometimes,"  Lady  Stella  said,  smiling  to  herself. 

"I'm  sure  Miss  Semple  would  like  Mabel  Kings- 
cote,"  Dick  went  on,  harking  back  to  his  old  subject. 
"They  must  meet  each  other  at  Easter,  when  the 
Semples  come  down.  Mabel  will  look  after  Miss 
Semple — show  her  the  country  and  all  that." 

"Why  should  not  I?"  Lady  Stella  asked.  She 
was  aware  of  the  faintest  feeling  of  resentment.  Dick 
talked  about  Miss  Semple  as  though  the  repetition  of 
the  name  delighted  him.  And  was  she,  Lady  Stella, 
too  old  to  be  on  the  same  terms  with  this  stranger  who 
had  infatuated  Dick  as  little  Mabel  Kingscote  ?  For 
a  moment  her  twenty-nine  years  lay  heavy  upon  her, 
shutting  her  out  from  some  foolish,  lovely  rose-garden 
of  youth.  To  be  sure,  she  was  not  very  young  by 
nature.  Dick  was  twenty- seven,  but  it  had  always 
seemed  to  her  that  many  more  years  than  the  two 
divided  them;  Dick  was  always  dear  and  young  to 
her.  His  youth  was  one  of  the  things  in  him  that 
delighted  her. 

She  put  her  hand  on  Sancho's  head.  The  dog  had 
come  and  laid  his  chin  on  her  knee,  and  was  looking 
at  her  with  a  world  of  understanding  in  his  eyes. 

"  Sancho  liked  Miss  Semple  ? "  she  asked. 

"He  took  to  them  all.  Not  as  he  likes  you,  of 
course.  For  a  young  dog  his  affections  are  very 


FOR  DICK  61 

formed.  He  will  never  like  any  one  as  he  likes  you 
and  me." 

The  conjunction  stabbed  her  with  a  half  pleasurable 
pain.  She  put  her  hand  under  Sancho's  chin,  lifted 
his  head  and  kissed  him  on  the  spot  on  his  forehead. 
She  felt  oddly  grateful  to  Sancho,  and  sure  of  him  as 
well.  She  did  not  think  that  Dorothea  Semple  would 
dispossess  her  with  Sancho. 

"  Lucky  Sancho ! "  said  Dick,  looking  at  her  with 
a  smile. 

It  was  the  merest  tender  gallantry ;  but  she  was 
grateful  for  the  blind  man's  holiday  which  was  already 
beginning  to  wrap  the  room  in  darkness  and  shadow. 
For  a  moment  she  bent  over  her  frame.  Then,  saying 
that  the  colours  were  confused  by  the  half-lights,  she 
rang  for  lights.  She  asked  the  servant  if  the  Duke 
had  yet  returned.  No  ;  his  Grace  had  not  come  back. 

"  Arthur  has  told  me  nothing  about  the  sport  at 
the  farm,"  she  said,  when  she  had  selected  her  silks. 
"  Was  it  good  ?  As  good  as  usual  ? " 

The  full  light  of  the  lamp  in  front  of  him  was  on 
Dick's  ingenuous  face.  He  started  as  she  asked  him 
the  question.  She  had  always  thought  that  she  knew 
instinctively  the  things  in  Dick's  mind  that  made  him 
sorry  or  glad.  Now  his  perturbation  communicated 
itself  to  her.  She  looked  at  him  with  a  question  in 
her  eyes  which  he  could  not  see  because  her  face  was 


62  DICK  PENTREATH 

in  the  shadow  of  the  lamp.  But  he  blushed  hotly, 
furiously.  She  had  never  seen  Dick  blush  before — at 
least,  not  like  that.  She  had  never  seen  his  eyes  droop 
before.  A  sudden  terror  seized  her  for  Dick.  She  had 
the  intuitions  of  guardian  angels,  of  mothers. 

"Pretty  fair,"  Dick  said,  in  a  stammering  way; 
"  in  fact,  very  good.  Arthur  enjoyed  himself,  I  think. 
So  did  they  all.  An  extraordinary  thing  happened. 
The  last  night  I  was  there  Sancho  bit  the  girl  at  the 
farm:  Susan — you  remember;  I  told  you  about  her. 
It  was  a  nasty  bite." 

He  wondered  the  next  moment  what  on  earth  had 
induced  him  to  talk  about  it.  He  wanted  to  forget 
that  moment  of  folly  about  Susan.  Since  he  had  seen 
Dorothea  Semple  the  memory  was  unendurable  to  him. 
Why  on  earth  should  he  have  dragged  Susan's  name 
in  now  ? 

Lady  Stella  gazed  down  into  the  dog's  eyes.  With- 
out moving  his  head,  he  was  looking  from  her  to  his 
master  uneasily. 

"  That  was  strange,"  she  said  gently.  "  It  wasn't 
like  Sancho  to  bite  any  one.  He  has  never  bitten  any 
one  before,  has  he  ? " 

"Never,"  said  Dick,  uncomfortably.  "That  was 
the  odd  part  of  it.  He  never  would  like  Susan." 

The  dog's  eyes  spoke  to  her  dumbly.  What  was 
it,  of  warning,  of  peril  to  the  object  of  their  common 


FOB  DICK  63 

love,  that  he  was  trying  to  tell  her  ?  She  was  suddenly 
wild  with  fear.  What  was  there  between  Dick  and 
this  woman  at  the  farm  among  the  Essex  marshes? 
She  put  in  a  stitch  or  two  carefully,  but  her  hand 
shook.  Dick,  uncomfortable  since  the  new  topic  had 
been  started,  stood  up  on  the  hearthrug  with  his  back 
to  the  blaze  and  admired  the  embroidery.  It  was  the 
first  time  he  had  taken  interest  in  Lady  Stella's  em- 
broidery, although  he  had  thought  her  wrist  beautiful 
as  she  put  in  the  stitches. 

Oh,  what  peril  menaced  one's  men  when  they  were 
out  of  sight!  Was  it  possible  that  Dick  could  be 
caught  into  such  a  coil  of  death  and  darkness  as  had 
ensnared  other  men  as  dear  and  lovable  as  he  ?  Sin 
and  shame  were  in  the  world  all  about  her.  Even  the 
peaceful  village  had  its  sordid  and  horrible  tragedies 
of  the  flesh,  things  to  be  pushed  away  from  one's 
thoughts  with  both  hands,  to  be  shuddered  away  from 
in  the  watches  of  the  night.  But  Dick  had  had  some- 
thing innocent  about  him  always,  something  of  the 
"  dear  and  stainless  heart  of  a  boy,"  that  acquitted  him 
of  sharing  such  knowledge.  For  the  moment  she  felt 
passionately,  like  the  mother  of  St.  Louis  of  France, 
that  she  would  rather  have  her  boy  dead  than  acquainted 
with  sin. 

Something  flashed  upon  her  like  a  light.  Dick's 
face  was  in  dusk  and  shadow.  She  had  an  idea  that, 


64  DICK   PENTREATH 

standing  there  on  the  hearthrug,  his  head  drooped  a 
little,  not  straddling  it  cheerfully  as  he  was  wont  to 
do,  he  had  a  guilty  look,  and  her  heart  yearned  over 
him. 

"  The  days  will  be  longer  when  your  Mends  come," 
she  said;  and  there  was  something  thrilling  in  her 
voice. 

It  had  been  flashed  into  her  mind  like  a  revelation 
from  Heaven  that  Dorothea  Semple  was  to  be  her  ally 
in  saving  Dick  from  harm.  Her  ally — nay,  rather, 
her  hope  and  her  defence.  Dick  would  never  be  in 
love  with  her.  They  had  been  too  intimate  and  dear 
over  many  years  for  love  to  come  now.  But  the  girl 
with  the  brows  and  hair  of  an  angel,  before  whom 
Dick  had  gone  down  at  first  sight,  had  not  Heaven 
sent  her  in  the  nick  of  time  ?  In  one  passionate 
moment  of  fear  and  anguish,  Lady  Stella  swore  in  her 
own  heart  a  pact  with  this  stranger  to  whom  Dick  had 
given  his  first  love.  Would  she  not  be  the  angel  with 
the  sword,  and  defend  him  from  the  pit  and  the  powers 
of  darkness  ? 

The  door  opened,  and  Mabel  Kingscote  came  in  with 
her  two  young  brothers.  A  footman  followed  with  a 
tea-tray.  There  was  a  sudden  cheerful  bustle ;  a  log 
fell  into  the  fire  with  a  shower  of  sparks,  and  a  flame 
sprang  up  and  lit  the  room  warmly. 

Lady  Stella   saw  the   sudden    delight    in   Mabel 


FOR  DICK  65 

Kingscote's  face  and  her  lowered  eyes.  She  took  the 
girl  by  the  two  hands  and  kissed  her  with  compunction, 
as  though  she  had  been  plotting  against  her  happiness. 
Poor  little  Mabel!  Neither  she  nor  Mabel  had  been 
the  one  chosen  to  save  Dick.  And  when  Mabel  knew 
that  the  one  conquering  woman  had  come  into  his  life 
she  would  be  hurt,  she  would  suffer.  Well,  they  must 
all  suffer,  so  long  as  things  were  well  with  Dick  That 
was  the  woman's  thought.  And  Mabel  would  get 
over  it  in  time,  and  be  happy  again.  Poor  little 
Mabel ! 

Presently  she  was  dispensing  the  delicious  tea  with 
its  rich  cream  and  the  piles  of  hot  buttered  tea-cake 
and  other  dainties  which  appealed  to  the  hungry  boys, 
and  to  Mabel,  even  if  she  was  love-sick.  The  two  boys 
were  hanging  about  Dick,  clamouring  of  football  and 
how  the  English  cricketers  were  doing  in  Australia; 
and  Dick  was  a  boy  with  them.  Lady  Stella  could 
almost  have  believed  she  had  imagined  thai  shame  in 
his  face. 

Mabel  was  sitting  with  the  firelight  on  her  bright 
hair,  feeding  Sancho  with  scraps  of  tea-cake,  and  wear- 
ing an  air  of  shy  felicity,  as  she  always  did  when  Dick 
was  present. 

"  You  do  look  comfortable,"  said  the  Duke,  coming 
in,  and  bringing  a  breath  of  evening  coolness  with 
him.  "  Have  you  any  tea  for  me,  Stella  ?  I  think  it 

I 


66  DICK   PENTRBATH 

will  freeze  to-night.  If  it  freezes  it  will  spoil  the 
hunting." 

"  But  we  shall  have  skating,"  said  Odo  Kingscote ; 
"  and  skating  is  as  good  as  hunting." 

"  By  the  way,  Stella,"  said  the  Duke,  "  Mr.  Gold- 
hawk  comes  to  us  in  March.  I  found  a  letter  from  him 
as  I  came  in." 

"  I  am  glad,"  Lady  Stella  said  gently.  "  I  like  Mr. 
Goldhawk." 

"He  likes  us  too,"  the  Duke  said,  laughing  in  a 
pleased  way,  "  or  he  would  scarcely  pause  in  his  work 
of  financing  the  European  Powers  to  spend  three  weeks 
in  this  sleepy  village." 

Lady  Stella  said  nothing.  Perhaps  she  could  have 
explained  better  than  any  one  how  it  was  that  Mr. 
Goldhawk  did  not  find  Lydford  dull 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    INTERLOPER 

MR.  OTTO  GOLDHAWK  had  been  at  Lydford  Towers 
two  out  of  the  three,  weeks  which  were  to  be  the 
duration  of  his  visit. 

It  was  quite  true  that  there  was  very  little  to  do  in 
the  country  at  the  time  of  year.  Hunting  was  almost 
over ;  and  for  a  man  who  had  hunted  in  Ireland  all 
during  the  season,  coming  and  going  with  lightning 
quickness  between  Kildare  and  London,  the  hunting 
was  of  the  most  uneventful.  But  Mr.  Goldhawk  donned 
his  scarlet  regularly,  and  went  out  to  hunt  with  the 
Squire's  pack,  fluttering  by  his  presence  even  the  sleepy 
aristocracy  of  the  county.  Mr.  Goldhawk  had  more 
than  fabulous  wealth  to  recommend  him.  There  were 
fairy-stories  about  the  greatest  of  the  financiers,  not 
only  about  his  wealth  and  the  palaces  he  had  built  for 
himself,  but  about  his  influence  in  European  politics, 
and  scarcely  less  about  his  munificent  charities.  Even 
the  old  Countess  of  Mull,  driving  to  the  meet  in  her 
donkey-carriage,  and  looking  like  the  dowdiest  of 

67 


68  DICK   PENTREATH 

greengrocers'  wives  in  her  purple-flowered  bonnet,  and  a 
cloak  her  cook  would  have  disdained  to  wear,  had  asked 
that  Mr.  Goldhawk  should  be  introduced  to  her. 

"  I  don't  like  Jews,"  she  had  said,  while  he  was 
within  a  few  feet  of  her,  "  and  they  say  he's  a  Jew  ; 
but  if  he  is,  he  justifies  himself  as  belonging  to  the 
race  whence  the  Master  of  us  all  sprang.  If  there  were 
many  Jews  like  Mr.  Goldhawk  we  Christians  would 
have  to  look  to  ourselves." 

Only  Lady  Stella  observed  the  fine  little  smile  which 
hovered  for  a  second  about  Mr.  Goldhawk's  mouth,  and 
even  she  could  not  be  sure  that  he  had  heard. 

There  was  no  consciousness  in  his  manner  a  minute 
or  two  later,  when  he  was  bending  above  Lady  Mull's 
soiled  old  leather  glove  as  though  it  were  the  daintiest 
thing  on  earth.  It  would  not  be  easy  to  say  how  Mr. 
Goldhawk's  manner  implied  such  homage,  for  it  was  the 
quietest  of  manners,  nothing  at  all  flowery  or  oriental 
about  it.  Lady  Stella  noticed  and  approved.  Even 
very  fine  gentlemen  had  sometimes  allowed  the  old 
Countess  to  see  that  she  held  them  against  their  will. 
Not  so  this  man  of  immense  affairs,  who,  when  the 
Tally-ho  sounded,  never  stirred  from  his  quiet  deferen- 
tial attitude  of  listening,  till  Lady  Mull,  who  was  a 
sportswoman  at  heart,  had  bidden  him  be  off. 

The  delay  kept  him  and  Lady  Stella  out  of  the  first 
flight.  She  had  seen  Dick  Pentreath  ride  off  at  the 


THE  INTERLOPER  69 

heels  of  the  Master,  with  a  momentary  backward  look 
at  herself,  as  though  he  had  a  thought  of  coming  to  her 
side.  Then  he  had  ridden  on.  Dick  had  been  with  her 
in  many  a  day's  hunting,  had  given  her  many  a  lead. 
She  had  her  emotions  singularly  well  under  control ;  but 
it  hurt  her  sharply  that  he  should  have  left  her  to  Otto 
Goldhawk,  as  though  he  had  the  greater  right. 

Her  escort  rode  extremely  well.  He  was  mounted 
on  a  sleek,  black  mare,  a  thing  of  spirit  and  fire,  whose 
eagerness  to  be  off  and  impatience  when  at  last  they 
were  off  showed  plainly  that  she  had  a  poor  opinion  of 
the  hunting. 

"  Gently,  Colleen,  gently,"  her  rider  said,  as  she 
broke  into  a  gallop.  "  You'll  find  the  going  very 
different  from  what  it  is  in  Kildare." 

While  the  run  lasted  there  was  not  much  time  for 
talk ;  but  coming  home  afterwards,  along  the  roads 
walled  by  woodlands  on  either  side,  in  a  red  sunset, 
Lady  Stella  was  struck  by  the  likeness  between  the 
man  and  his  horse. 

There  was  nothing  florid  about  Mr.  Goldhawk's 
looks.  He  was  no  more  than  the  medium  height,  and 
was  rather  slight  than  otherwise.  His  years  were  not 
far  from  forty,  but  he  carried  them  with  an  air  of 
youth.  One  could  hardly  associate  age  with  anything 
so  alert  and  slender,  with  so  quick  an  eye  and  move- 
ment. When  the  time  came  for  Mr.  Goldhawk  to 


70  DICK  PENTREATH 

grow  old  he  would  wither,  but  he  would  never  become 
gross.  His  features  were  only  delicately  Jewish ;  his 
colour  a  pale  olive.  The  Oriental  in  him  did  not 
reveal  itself  in  hair  or  mouth  or  nose  or  voice.  Indeed, 
he  would  have  passed  for  a  dark,  aquiline-featured 
Englishman  any  day  of  the  year,  although  no  English- 
man could  have  had  the  velvety  darkness  of  the  eye, 
nor  the  fire  that  lit  it  when  his  emotions  were  aroused. 
Looking  at  him,  one  thought  -of  the  Book  of  Kings  and 
not  of  the  Ghetto. 

Another  day  Lady  Stella  took  him  to  see  the  Misses 
Marshbanks  at  The  Place — the  house  behind  the  high 
walls,  with  the  row  of  Spanish  chestnuts  overhanging 
them  that  dropped  their  fruit  into  the  road.  From 
The  Place  a  great  expanse  of  country  was  visible,  the 
distant  woods  and  hills  standing  out  sharp  and  clear  in 
the  brilliancy  of  the  March  air,  although  most  times  of 
the  year  the  distance  would  be  dimmed  opal  and  silver,  or 
clouded  sapphire,  or  rose,  or  violet,  or  all  colours  at  once. 

Miss  Eleanor  Marshbanks  overtook  them  as  they 
climbed  the  road  in  her  pony  phaeton,  which  contained 
half  a  dozen  little  dogs  besides  herself,  while  three  or 
four  collies  followed  at  their  leisure,  nosing  about 
under  last  year's  leaves  for  things  that  interested  them. 

Miss  Eleanor  had  heard  of  Mr.  Goldhawk,  of  course, 
and  kept  sending  him  curious  glances  where  he  walked 
by  the  little  carriage  after  the  introduction  had  been 


"HlS  MOTHER,  THE   HONORABLE    MRS.  LUDLOW,  IS   IN   AND 
OUT    OF    THE    COTTAGES    ALL    DAY    LONG."  [Page  2] 


THE  INTERLOPER  71 

effected.  Her  glances  sometimes  included  Lady  Stella, 
passing  rapidly  from  the  one  face  to  the  other.  There 
was  something  in  her  manner  to  the  quiet  man  that 
suggested  a  veiled  hostility ;  and  when  they  had  arrived 
at  the  house,  where  they  found  Miss  Anne,  the  other 
sister,  by  the  drawing-room  fire,  Miss  Anne,  who  was 
the  gentler  of  the  two,  was  just  as  frigid.  At  least  it 
was  frigidity  by  contrast,  for  Miss  Anne  Marshbanks 
was  one  of  the  warmest  and  kindliest  people  possible, 
with  her  little,  round,  motherly  figure,  the  faded  roses 
in  her  cheeks,  and  the  bluest  of  blue  eyes.  The  nearest 
approach  she  could  get  to  a  frigid  manner  might  have 
passed  for  something  like  cordiality  in  other  people. 
Anyhow,  Mr.  Goldhawk  did  not  seem  to  suspect  any 
lack  of  friendship  either  in  her  or  Miss  Eleanor,  who 
could  be  sharp  at  times. 

He  drank  his  tea  with  a  toy  terrier  on  one  knee 
and  a  crowd  of  jealous  fawning  dogs  making  low 
sounds  of  protest  about  him.  Having  asked  permission 
he  fed  them  by  turns  with  bits  of  tea-cake.  They  were 
all  eager  for  his  attentions  and  caresses.  Presently  he 
was  prescribing  for  some  ailment  of  one  of  the  dogs, 
and  asking  to  be  permitted  to  send  the  medicine. 

"  I  have  a  troop  of  rascals  of  my  own,"  he  said,  in 
smiling  apology.  "  You  can't  imagine  how  they  over- 
run me  and  my  possessions." 

"  I  don't  understand  the  dogs,"  Miss  Eleanor  said 


72  DICK   PENTREATH 

grudgingly.  "  They  are  generally  so  indifferent  except 
to  their  friends.  Tolerant,  of  course,  even  amiable  to 
the  world  outside,  but  indifferent.  Why  should  they 
desert  you,  Stella,  for  Mr.  Goldhawk  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  jealous,"  Lady  Stella  hastened  to 
assure  her. 

"I  can't  help  myself" — Mr.  Goldhawk  looked  up 
with  bright  apology — "  dogs  always  will  attach  them- 
selves to  me." 

"  Dogs  know  their  friends,"  said  Miss  Anne,  in  a 
great  hurry.  "  I  have  often  heard  you  say  so,  Nell. 
And  dogs  are  very  wise." 

"  I  knew  she  would  capitulate  once  he  had  sympa- 
thized with  her  over  Fido's  cough,"  Miss  Eleanor  said 
to  herself,  then  made  an  excuse  for  getting  rid  of  her 
sister  and  Lady  Stella.  Would  Anne  take  Lady  Stella 
to  see  the  peach-blossom  ?  The  fine  weather  had 
suddenly  brought  it  out  on  the  sheltered  south  wall. 
She  and  Mr.  Goldhawk  would  follow  at  their  leisure. 
She  was  going  to  have  another  cup  of  tea,  and  was  sure 
Mr.  Goldhawk  would  join  her. 

Mr.  Goldhawk  handed  his  cup  gratefully.  There 
was  a  bright,  amused  gleam  in  his  eyes,  but  he  sent 
no  regretful  glance  after  Lady  Stella.  He  began  on  a 
fresh  dish  of  tea-cake  that  had  just  been  brought.  He 
had  an  excellent  digestion,  and  there  was  practically 
nothing  from  which  he  need  refrain. 


THE   INTERLOPER  73 

"  No,  no,"  he  said  to  the  dogs ;  "  it  is  my  turn  now. 
Don't  you  think  so,  Miss  Marshbanks  ?  " 

"  Thank  goodness,  he  doesn't  talk  about  his  diges- 
tion in  the  nasty  way  they  have  nowadays,"  was  Miss 
Eleanor's  unspoken  comment.  "  It  would  never  have 
been  tolerated  in  my  young  days.  Dear  me,  he  eats 
like  a  lad !  It  is  really  a  pleasure  to  see  him." 

Meanwhile,  in  face  of  the  miracle  of  blue  and  rose 
that  the  southern  wall  had  just  become,  Lady  Stella 
and  Miss  Anne  were  standing,  silent  with  admiration. 

"  He's  really  a  very  winning  person,"  said  Miss 
Anne,  after  a  pause.  "  So  kind  to  the  dogs,  and  so 
interested  about  Fido.  I  had  quite  made  up  my  mind 
to  dislike  him,  but  I  couldn't  keep  it  up;  I  really 
couldn't.  I  wonder  if  he  will  get  round  Nell." 

"  I  shouldn't  have  dared  to  bring  him,  if  I'd  known," 
said  Lady  Stella,  half-humorously.  "  You  are  generally 
so  kind  and  friendly  to  everybody.  But  I  dare  say  he 
never  found  out." 

"I'm  sure  my  manner  was  freezing,"  said  Miss 
Anne  Marshbanks.  "  As  for  Nell's,  it  made  me  quite 
uncomfortable.  Loyalty  is  a  very  good  thing,  of  course ; 
still,  if  you  find  the  person  quite  different  from  what 
you  have  supposed,  what  are  you  to  do  ?  Nell  and  I 
often  let  our  animosities  run  away  with  us.  I  remember 
Beauclerk  said  that  once ;  and  he  was  quite  right.  It 
was  about  a  man  who  had  murdered  his  wife ;  but  this, 


74  DICK  PENTBEATH 

of  course,  is  quite  a  different  matter.  Do  you  think 
he  noticed  it,  Stella  ? " 

"  If  you  mean  Mr.  Goldhawk,  I  thought  he  seemed 
too  much  at  his  ease  to  be  conscious  of  an  unfriendly 
atmosphere." 

"  I  was  quite  glad  to  give  it  up,"  Miss  Anne  said, 
with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "I  think  my  sister  thought  I 
was  giving  it  up  too  easily.  Yet  it  is  one  thing  to  be 
friendly  with  a  very  pleasant  visitor,  and  another  to 
like  him  as  well  as  an  old  friend." 

Lady  Stella  looked  at  Miss  Anne  in  some  bewilder- 
ment. 

"It  is  about  Dick,  my  dear,"  the  old  lady  said, 
taking  her  hand  and  pressing  it  very  gently.  "  It  is 
not  that  we  misjudge  you;  it  is  only  that,  as  Nell 
says,  we  should  resent  this  Mr.  Goldhawk's  pretensions. 
We  know  that  you  would  never  give  up  Dick  for 
him." 

Into  the  healthy  sun-brown  of  Lady  Stella's  cheeks 
there  came  two  sudden  sharp  stabs  of  colour. 

"  Dear  Miss  Anne,"  she  said,  "  you  are  quite  wrong, 
you  and  Miss  Nell.  There  is  nothing  between  Dick 
Pentreath  and  me.  There  never  will  be.  Nothing  at 
all,  except  warm  affection  on  either  side.  As  for  Mr. 
Goldhawk,  I  am  not  at  all  the  marrying  sort.  I  shall 
look  after  Arthur,  and  when  he  is  married  I  intend  to 
devote  myself  to  his  children.  I  shall  be  like  you  and 


THE   INTEKLOPER  75 

Miss  Nell  with  your  nephew.  Please  never  think  again 
that  there  is  anything  but  warm  friendship  between 
Dick  Pentreath  and  myself." 

"  We  always  expected  you  to  marry  him,"  said  Miss 
Anne,  with  an  air  of  gentle  disbelief.  "  Of  course  we 
know  there  is  nothing  decided  between  you  or  you 
would  not  have  kept  your  old  friends  in  ignorance.  I 
think  everybody  expects  it  of  you,  Stella,  my  dear; 
and  the  county  generally  would  be  much  disappointed 
if  it  were  not  to  come  off.  I  have  put  by  my  cashmere 
shawl  for  your  wedding  present ;  and  I  know  my  sister 
intends  you  to  have  her  pearls.  Beauclerk's  wife  will 
have  enough  without  them.  Dick's  pride  has  probably 
kept  him  from  speaking  so  far,  but  he  will  speak ;  and 
you  are  not  the  girl  to  refuse  such  a  one  as  Dick  because 
he  is  only  a  plain  gentleman  without  much  money. 
Indeed,  we  would  both  be  bitterly  disappointed  in  you 
if  you  were  like  that.  You  have  money  enough  for 
both ;  and  this  Mr.  Goldhawk,  pleasant  as  he  is,  must 
take  his  money-bags  elsewhere." 

Lady  Stella  suddenly  turned  and  took  the  rosy  face 
between  her  hands,  looking  down  into  the  surprised  eyes. 

"  I  would  tell  you,  Miss  Anne,"  she  said,  "  if  there 
were  anything  to  tell,  if  I  anticipated  that  any  time  in 
the  future  I  should  marry  Dick  Pentreath.  But  I 
never  shall.  You  haven't  seen  Dick  lately,  have  you  ? 
There  is  a  change  in  him.  You  will  see  it  at  once.  He 


76  DICK   PENTBEATH 

has  fallen  in  love.  Presently  you  will  see  the  girl  who 
has  won  his  heart.  She  is  not  the  least  bit  in  the  world 
like  me." 

She  turned  away  with  a  little  laugh.  Miss  Anne's 
colour  deepened. 

"It  isn't  possible,  Stella,"  she  said  indignantly. 
"Who  could  Dick  have  fallen  in  love  with?  Why, 
we  know  everybody  he  knows.  I  might  almost  say 
we  know  every  thought  of  the  boy's  heart.  He  is  much 
more  transparent  than  Beauclerk,  who  only  laughs 
when  we  want  to  know  what  he  has  for  breakfast  and 
if  his  clothes  are  properly  aired  before  he  puts  them 
on.  As  for  marrying,  he  says  he  is  always  in  love,  and 
that  is  why  he  doesn't  marry." 

"When  you  see  Dick,  you  will  find  that  he  has 
ceased  to  be  transparent.  That  is  one  of  the  alterations 
that  has  come  about  through  his  falling  in  love." 

"She  shan't  have  my  cashmere  shawl,  nor  Nell's 
pearls,"  Miss  Anne  said  vindictively.  "I'm  sure  his 
dear  mother  never  would  have  wished  for  such  a  thing. 
When  he  comes  to  tell  us,  he  won't  have  at  all  a 
pleasant  reception,  I  can  assure  you.  We  shan't  forgive 
him  in  a  hurry." 

"  Oh,  you  will  forgive  him,  you  will  forgive  him ! " 
Lady  Stella  said  half  sadly.  "We  all  forgive  Dick; 
that  is,  if  there  is  anything  to  forgive.  You  will  re- 
member that  it  is  a  secret,  dear  Miss  Anne.  You  forced 


THE   INTERLOPER  77 

me  to  tell  you.  But  I  am  sure  Dick  will  tell  you  the 
first  time  he  comes  to  see  you.  He  is  so  full  of  her." 

"He  shan't  have  any  welcome,"  Miss  Anne  said 
half  irresolutely.  She  was  bitterly  disappointed  in 
Dick;  but  she  had  a  sudden  memory  of  Dick's  face, 
and  she  recognized  her  own  powerlessness  to  with- 
stand its  sunny  fascination.  She  remembered  various 
boyish  escapades  in  which  he  and  Beauclerk  had  taken 
part  together,  how  they  had  poached  the  trout  laid 
down  specially  for  Beauclerk's  future  benefit  in  waters 
hitherto  troutless,  and  other  such  things. 

It  seemed  like  a  continuation  of  her  own  thought 
when  her  sister  spoke  beside  her. 

"  I  have  asked  Mr.  Goldhawk  to  fish  our  river,"  she 
said.  "  He  is  going  to  have  a  day's  fishing  on  Thursday, 
unless  you  have  any  plans,  Stella.  Perhaps  the  Duke 
would  join  him ;  and  you  could  all  lunch  here.  Dick 
Pentreath  too,  perhaps." 

Miss  Anne  turned  and  looked  at  her  sister.  "  I 
thought  you  were  keeping  the  fishing  for  Beau,"  she  said. 

"  Not  I.  Beau  will  only  come  when  it  suits  him. 
You  spoil  him,  Anne." 

"  She  would  not  allow  a  rod  on  the  river  till  Beau 
had  been  down  for  the  Easter  vacation,"  Miss  Anne 
said  in  a  whisper  to  Lady  Stella  later.  "Your  Mr. 
Goldhawk  has  fascinated  her.  To  be  sure,  Beau  lies 
in  bed  of  mornings;  he  is  too  lazy  even  to  fish.  I 
couldn't  have  believed  it  of  Nell." 


CHAPTER  VII 

LOVERS'   HOLIDAY 

THE  Semples  were  to  arrive  in  time  for  lunch.  For  two 
or  three  days  before  their  coming  Dick  had  been  up 
earlier  than  his  wont,  coming  on  the  servants  with  their 
dustpans  and  brooms  as  he  went  singing  out  into  the 
open  air. 

Fortunately,  it  was  an  early  spring — Easter  weather 
as  it  ought  to  be,  and  not  as  it  often  is.  The  clear 
sharp  light  of  March  was  replaced  by  something  softer. 
The  hedgerows  were  already  in  leaf;  the  lambs  were 
bleating  in  the  pastures ;  there  was  a  tangle  of  larks 
over  every  upland ;  the  woods  were  growing  cloudier, 
more  indistinct,  with  the  coming  of  leafage. 

It  was  the  unrest  of  happiness  that  was  on  Dick 
Pentreath.  The  old  servants  smiled  and  nodded  to  each 
other,  looking  after  him  as  he  went.  Wonder  of 
wonders,  he  began  to  fidget  over  the  preparations  for 
the  visitors  as  the  day  came  near !  He  had  been  used 
to  leave  such  things  to  Mrs.  Maidment.  The  servants 

78 


LOVERS'   HOLIDAY  79 

had  always  said  that  it  was  only  a  bad  heart  wouldn't 
do  its  best  by  the  master,  who  was  so  easily  pleased 
and  so  unsuspicious.  But  now  all  at  once  he  grew 
meddlesome.  He  even  went  against  Mrs.  Maidment  in 
her  arrangement  of  the  rooms  for  the  guests. 

"  The  Bride's  Room  for  the  lady  and  gentleman," 
Mrs.  Maidment  had  said,  "  and  the  Blue  Room  for  the 
young  lady." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Dick ;  "  the  Bride's  Room  for  the 
young  lady,  and  the  Blue  Room  for  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Semple." 

He  blushed  boyishly  as  he  made  the  emendation, 
but  his  eyes  met  the  old  housekeeper's. 

"  And  I'll  tell  you  what,  Maidie,"  he  went  on.  "  I 
know  that  it's  against  all  your  principles  to  spring-clean 
before  the  first  of  May.  But  just  for  this  once,  couldn't 
you  put  out  the  chintz  in  the  Bride's  Room  ?  It  would 
be  so  much  prettier  for  a  young  lady's  eyes  than  all  that 
red  damask." 

"Lord  love  you,  to  be  sure  I  could!"  said  Mrs. 
Maidment,  after  an  imperceptible  struggle  with  her 
sense  of  what  was  due  to  her. 

So  the  maids  were  let  loose  on  the  Bride's  Room.  And 
when  it  had  all  been  turned  out  of  doors  and  windows, 
and  had  been  swept,  and  scrubbed,  and  beeswaxed,  and 
polished,  and  what-not,  the  big  four-poster  bed  and  the 
furniture  were  draped  in  the  hundred-years'  old  chintz, 


80  DICK   PENTREATH 

with  its  wreaths  of  roses  and  true  lovers'  knots  of  blue 
ribbon.  And  when  it  had  at  last  left  the  hands  of  Mrs. 
Maidment  and  her  helpers  it  would  not  have  been  easy 
to  imagine  a  more  beautiful  room,  so  homely  and 
kindly  and  gracious  within,  and  with  such  a  wonderful 
view  from  its  three  long  windows  over  the  Weald  of 
Sussex  and  away  to  the  South  Downs. 

Dick  himself  brought  home  the  flowers  for  the 
adornment  of  the  rooms:  splendid,  trumpet-shaped, 
single  daffodils  which  grow  plentifully  in  the  shaded 
places  about  Oakhurst,  with  their  beautiful  sword- 
shaped  leaves ;  narcissi,  hyacinths,  violets,  wallflowers, 
little  lavender  primulas,  primroses,  all  manner  of  sweet- 
smelling,  hardy  flowers  that  belong  to  the  youth  of  the 
year. 

The  garden  at  Oakhurst  grew  after  its  own  sweet 
will.  It  was  understaffed  for  its  size,  as  was  all  Dick's 
establishment  according  to  the  requirements  of  the 
present  day ;  and  it  had  never  anything  new  in  it.  The 
flowers  sowed  themselves  year  after  year  or  ceased  to 
be.  The  garden  straggled  a  good  deal  and  was  rather 
wild,  but  extremely  pleasant,  with  its  box  borders  and 
yew  hedges  and  arbours  and  sun-dial,  and  the  imper- 
ceptible line  of  demarcation  where  the  pleasance 
ended  and  the  kitchen  garden  began.  Oakhurst  flowers 
were  of  the  hardiest  since  they  got  no  coddling,  and 
very  sweet  and  brave  flowers  they  were.  But  Oakhurst 


LOVERS'   HOLIDAY  81 

could  never  have  produced  the  growing  violets  and 
hyacinths,  the  growing  lilies  of  the  valley,  ethereally 
transparent  and  exquisite,  which  bloomed  in  every 
corner  of  the  Oakhurst  drawing-room  and  on  the 
bountifully-spread  luncheon-table  the  day  the  Semples 
came. 

These  were  Lady  Stella's  thought.  She  had  met 
Dick  riding  home  one  day  with  an  armful  of  daffodils, 
and  had  sent  over  some  of  the  sweetest  things  in  the 
greenhouse  specially  devoted  to  her,  a  few  hours 
later. 

Dick  was  delighted,  called  Lady  Stella  no  end  of  a 
trump,  and  carried  off  some  of  the  most  delicious  of  the 
flowers  to  adorn  the  Bride's  Eoom.  Although  he  had 
faced  Mrs.  Maidment  so  bravely,  he  was  shy  about  his 
doings,  but  undiscouraged  in  them.  When  he  had 
filled  the  vases  with  flowers,  arranged  with  masculine 
unskilfulness,  he  looked  about  the  room  to  see  what  else 
he  could  do.  The  mantelshelf,  with  its  home-made 
ingenuities  of  shell-boxes  and  picture  frames  of  fir-cones 
and  straws  tied  with  blue  ribbons,  did  not  please  him. 
And  where  he  stood  before  the  old  conch-shaped  look- 
ing-glass, the  polished  floor  sank  away  in  a  worn 
place. 

He  made  one  or  two  expeditions  downstairs  to  the 
pleasant  room  with  its  wall-cupboards  and  hooded 
fireplace  that  had  been  his  mother's  morning-room, 

a 


82  DICK   PENTRBATH 

surreptitious  expeditions  during  which  he  trembled 
lest  he  should  meet  a  servant  on  the  stairs. 

Maidment  lifted  up  her  hands  at  the  result.  A  row 
of  the  most  precious  Dresden  cups  and  saucers,  miracles 
of  elaborate  and  delicate  ornamentation,  were  on  the 
mantel-shelf;  Venetian  gldsses  on  the  toilet  table;  an 
exquisite  old  Persian  rug  for  Miss  Semple's  feet. 

"That  Dresden,  Master  Dick,"  she  said  the  next 
time  she  found  her  darling  alone, "  your  mamma  kept  it 
ever  under  lock  and  key.  I  hope  the  young  lady  will 
be  careful.  To  be  sure,  you're  the  master  and  I  know 
my  place." 

"  Indeed,  you  don't,  Maidie,"  said  Dick,  taking  her 
by  the  two  worn  hands.  "  You  never  did  know  your 
place,  so  far  as  I  was  concerned ;  or,  at  least,  you  knew 
that  your  place  was  to  rule  me  with  a  rod  of  iron,  and 
you  have  always  done  it.  And  I  can  answer  for  it  that 
the  young  lady  is  careful." 

To  be  sure  Mrs.  Maidment  capitulated.  When 
Dick  wanted  to  have  his  own  way,  few  women  could 
resist  him,  least  of  all  the  woman  who  had  held  him 
in  her  arms  an  hour  after  he  was  born.  She  smiled  as 
she  went  away,  but  she  was  not  altogether  satisfied. 
There  was  no  mistaking  the  master's  condition.  Why, 
even  the  young  kitchen-maid  was  aware  of  it,  and  the 
village  urchin  who  was  supposed  to  weed  the  garden- 
beds,  but  was  more  often  busy  amusing  himself  as  he 


LOVERS'  HOLIDAY  83 

would.  The  whole  world  knew  that  Dick  was  in  love. 
It  was  written  on  his  beaming  face.  His  voice  and 
his  step  were  as  jocund  as  the  blackbird's  note  and 
flight  out  there  in  the  shrubbery,  where  he  was  singing 
his  new-married  song  from  day  to  dusk. 

"  It  did  ought  to  have  been  Lady  Stella,"  Mrs.  Maid- 
ment  grumbled  to  herself  in  the  solitude  of  that  sacred 
room  where  her  stores  were  kept,  an  inviting  room  with 
stacks  of  jam  and  mince-meat  and  chutney,  and  home- 
made liqueurs  and  wines  and  cordials  looking  out  from 
the  brown  cupboards,  and  fragrance  of  dried  herbs  under 
the  ceiling.  "  It  did  ought  to  have  been  Lady  Stella. 
And,  to  be  sure,  we  have  all  looked  for  it  to  be,  and  if 
'twas  Lady  Stella,  then  we'd  know  where  we  were. 
But  with  new  people  you  never  can  tell.  Supposing 
as  how  she  was  to  meddle ! " 

For  a  moment  the  familiar  things  about  her,  the 
pots  and  bottles  docketed  and  dated  by  her  own  hand, 
were  dim  before  her  eyes. 

"The  mistress  never  meddled,"  she  said,  wiping 
away  the  dimness,  "  and  I  hope  she  won't,  for  her  own 
sake.  But,  after  all,  the  thing  is,  if  she  makes  the 
master  happy " 

It  was  the  way  Dick's  lovers — of  the  feminine  kind, 
at  least — were  wont  to  finish  their  thoughts  about  him. 

She  came  smiling  and  curtsying  presently  to  re- 
ceive the  master's  visitors  and  show  the  ladies  to  their 


84  DICK  PENTREATH 

rooms.  Her  shrewd  old  eyes  under  the  wrinkled  lids 
looked  anxiously  at  Miss  Semple.  The  girl  was 
wearing  a  pale  green  gown,  with  a  white  fichu  and  white 
frills  at  the  wrists.  She  had  a  large  black  hat.  Her 
hands  were  full  of  primroses,  which  she  had  gathered 
on  her  way  from  the  station,  having  besought  Dick  to 
let  her  alight  from  the  carriage  for  the  purpose.  There 
was  a  light  in  her  eyes,  brought  there  by  her  pleasure 
in  all  she  saw.  She  was  so  tall,  so  slender,  so  fair,  that 
she  was  like  one  of  the  great  July  lilies  that  throve 
amazingly  well  at  Oakhurst.  Her  smooth,  young  skin 
had  something  of  their  marvellous  texture.  Her  young, 
shining  grey  eyes  looked  outwards  like  the  eyes  of  a 
child,  not  inward  as  the  eyes  of  old  folk  -do,  dwelling 
on  introspection  and  memory. 

"  Do  you  know,"  Dick  was  saying,  "  I  had  no  end 
of  a  fright  a  little  while  ago,  when  I  saw  the  red-headed 
boy  from  the  post-office  at  Greenheys  riding  up  to  the 
door  with  a  telegram  ?  I  thought  it  must  be  a  post- 
ponement, and  I  never  could  endure  postponements." 

"We  weren't  at  all  likely  to  postpone,  were  we, 
Dolly  ? "  Mrs.  Semple  asked,  smiling  at  the  young  man 
as  though  he  were  a  part  of  the  general  pleasantness 
of  the  place.  "  We  have  been  looking  forward  so  much 
to  coming.  It  was  so  fortunate  that  Mr.  Cleve  could 
take  over  my  husband's  work  for  a  couple  of  Sundays. 
Mr,  Cleve  was  a  good  many  years  in  the  parish,  and 


LOVERS'  HOLIDAY  85 

many  of  the  people  still  remember  him.  It  seems  so 
fresh  and  so  clean  and  so  sweet  here  coming  from  the 
murkiness  of  London.  You  can't  imagine  how  grateful 
the  beauty  of  it  all  is  to  us,  Londoners." 

Mrs.  Maidment,  standing  respectfully  in  the  back- 
ground, sent  an  appreciative  glance  at  Mrs.  Semple's 
fair,  kind  motherly  face. 

"I  think,"  said  Mr.  Semple,  rubbing  his  hands 
softly  together,  "  that  I  shall  be  able  to  get  on  with  my 
treatise  on  St.  Augustine's  De  Civitate  Dei  while  I  am 
with  you.  The  thing  has  been  in  my  head  for  years ; 
but  in  the  East  End  of  London  one's  ideas  won't  come. 
Now  here — well,  one  feels  that  God  has  been  building 
His  city  these  days  of  spring." 

"  He  mustn't  work,  Mr.  Pentreath,  he  really 
mustn't,"  Mrs.  Semple  said,  in  gentle  distress.  "I 
want  him  to  be  in  the  open  air  all  day.  Mr.  Arbuthnot 
will  claim  so  much  of  his  time.  You  really  mustn't 
work,  my  dear.  Must  he,  Mr.  Pentreath,  during  this 
brief  holiday  ? " 

"No,  I  am  sure  he  mustn't,"  said  Dick,  heartily. 
"You  can  come  here,  sir,  for  a  month  or  two  in  the 
summer.  The  house  stands  so  high  that  it  is  not  at 
all  relaxing.  You  can  work  at  St.  Augustine  then  just 
as  much  as  you  like.  Upon  my  word,  Mrs.  Semple,  I 
am  uncommonly  glad  to  see  you  here." 

He  detected  a  little  impatience  in  Mrs.  Maidment's 


86  DICK  PENTRBATH 

eye  turned  on  him  imploringly  and  scented  a  spoilt 
lunch,  despite  the  state  of  mind  he  was  in  which 
banished  all  thoughts  of  sublunary  things  for  the 
moment. 

"I'm  afraid  lunch  must  be  waiting,"  he  said,  in 
sudden  contrition.  "  Is  that  so,  Mrs.  Maidment  ? 
Supposing  you  take  the  ladies  to  their  rooms  without 
further  delay?" 

Both  ladies  cried  out  that  they  were  ready  to  pro- 
ceed to  lunch  just  as  they  were ;  they  could  go  to  their 
rooms  afterwards.  So  Dorothea  took  off  her  big  hat 
and  laid  it  with  her  gloves  on  Dick's,  writing-table, 
where  he  did  his  simple  accounts  and  wrote  his  few 
business  letters  and  sat  to  interview  his  farm  bailiff. 
The  foolish  fellow  was  enraptured  that  they  should  lie 
there. 

"  My  hands  smell  of  primroses,"  she  said,  holding 
them  to  her  face  and  then  stretching  them  towards 
him.  He  had  much  ado  not  to  drop  on  his  knees  then 
and  there  and  kiss  them. 

He  ate  quite  a  respectable  luncheon  without  ap- 
preciating the  fact.  It  was  an  excellent  lunch,  roast 
lamb  and  mint  sauce,  and  pale  lettuce  with  a  capital 
French  dressing  for  the  worldly-minded,  while  for 
those  who  kept  the  Lenten  observances  there  was 
cold  salmon  in  mayonnaise.  Mr.  Semple  was  not 
ascetic,  and  listened  to  his  wife's  persuasions  that  he 


LOVERS'  HOLIDAY  87 

should  eat  a  slice  of  lamb.  But  Dorothea  was 
obstinate. 

"  Dear  child,"  said  the  mother,  "  she  has  kept  Lent 
so  rigorously.  We  think  it  has  quite  pulled  her  down. 
Isn't  she  looking  pale,  Mr.  Pentreath  ? " 

"My  dear  mother,"  said  Dorothea,  with  a  blush 
that  became  her,  "salmon  in  mayonnaise  can  hardly 
be  called  ascetic  fare." 

Dick  looked  at  her  in  alarm.  Was  she  paler  than 
he  remembered  her  ?  It  was  adorable  for  a  woman  to 
be  devout,  but  what  if  Dorothea  injured  her  health  ? 
She  had  been  pale  before,  but  with  a  healthy,  firm 
pallor.  Perhaps  there  was  a  little  shadow  under  her 
eyes  which  had  not  been  there,  a  tired  look,  a  certain 
pathos  about  the  lips.  A  curious  terror  took  possession 
of  him,  like  a  premonition — perhaps  some  shadow  cast 
backward  from  years  to  be. 

"You  shouldn't  let  her  fast,"  he  said,  with  a 
tremble  in  his  voica  "I  am  sure  she  is  not  fit 
for  it." 

He  had  a  feeling  at  the  moment  that  no  one  could 
take  care  of  Dorothea  as  he  could.  How  did  he  know 
what  follies  they  allowed  her  to  commit  ?  Perhaps  she 
went  in  and  out  of  pestilential  places,  brushing  skirts 
with  fever  and  sin  as  well  as  with  poverty  and  ignor- 
ance and  dirt.  What  harm  might  not  come  to  her? 
What  might  she  not  see  and  hear  unfit  for  her  heavenly 


88  DICK  PBNTREATH 

eyes,  her  unsullied  ears?  Why,  he  would  never  be 
happy  about  her  till  she  was  his  to  watch  over,  to 
cherish,  to  guard  with  his  life  from  any  ill  that  threat- 
ened her. 

Dorothea  answered  him  with  quiet  good  sense — the 
good  sense  that  often  made  people  imagine  her  to  be 
older  than  her  years. 

"  You  may  be  quite  sure,  Mr.  Pentreath,"  she  said, 
"that  my  mother  will  never  let  any  of  us  be  very 
ascetic.  She  spoils  every  one  who  comes  in  contact 
with  her  except  herself.  And,  by  the  way,  how  beau- 
tiful your  lilies  of  the  valley  are !  I  think  they  are 
my  favourite  flowers." 

"  I  am  so  glad,"  said  Dick,  remembering  with  satis- 
faction that  he  had  filled  the  Venetian  glasses  on  the 
dressing-table  with  the  same  flowers.  He  had  a 
thought  that  she  was  not  unlike  the  flowers  herself 
in  her  pale  green  gown,  but  the  thought  he  kept  to 
himself. 

They  were  going  to  see  Mr.  Arbuthnot  in  the  after- 
noon. He  lived  in  a  delightful  house  on  the  edge  of 
the  high-road  overlooking  the  village  green,  but  retired 
between  high,  red-brick  walls  which  were  beautiful  on 
the  outside  because  of  their  deep  colour  and  the  lichens 
that  covered  them  and  the  flowering  grasses  that 
sprang  in  many  crannies.  The  other  side  of  the  wall 
faced  south,  and  was  covered  with  peaches  and  apricots, 


LOVERS'   HOLIDAY  89 

cherries  and  apples,  pears  and  plums  in  their  season — 
a  famous  southern  wall. 

The  most  wonderful  garden  grew  about  the  old 
roomy  red  house  behind  the  high  walls,  and  the  house 
and  garden  were  filled  with  Arbuthnot  children  and 
Arbuthnot  dogs,  and  all  manner  of  pets— cats,  and 
hedgehogs,  and  guinea-pigs,  and  squirrels,  and  rabbits, 
and  white  mice,  and  birds,  which  apparently  lived 
together  in  great  amity,  although  there  was  occasion- 
ally a  tragic  incident  when  a  cat  ate  a  white  mouse  or 
a  bird,  or  a  dog  killed  one  of  the  rabbits. 

Sancho  was  quite  safe  amid  this  menagerie,  much 
safer  than  the  sly  Arbuthnot  dogs — a  fox-terrier,  mother 
and  daughter,  and  a  lady  of  the  Blenheim  spaniel  type 
— whose  faces  were  candour  and  simplicity  itself,  even 
when,  as  events  proved,  they  must  have  had  the  most 
nefarious  designs  in  their  minds. 

So  Sancho  bounded  along  the  broad  high-road  in 
front  of  his  master  and  his  master's  guests.  For  a 
little  while  the  road  ran  between  Oakhurst  fields,  with 
lambs  and  sheep  in  one,  bullocks  in  another,  the  green 
satin  spears  of  oats  springing  in  a  third,  the  fourth  laid 
down  in  meadowing.  Dick  expatiated  on  his  prospects 
for  the  year  to  Mr.  Semple  as  they  went  along,  and 
Dorothea's  father  heard  him  approvingly. 

"  I'm  so  glad  you're  a  farmer,"  he  said.  "  It  gives 
you  occupation." 


90  DICK   PENTBEATH 

"  We've  always  farmed  our  own  land,"  Dick  replied. 
"  As  you  say,  it  gives  us  something  to  do.  If  I  hadn't 
that  I'd  have  to  go  into  the  Army  or  Navy  or  something 
else  to  give  me  an  occupation.  Or  I  might  have  looked 
after  things  for  one  of  the  big  land-owners  here.  But 
I  find  the  farming  uncommonly  interesting,  although 
it  is  on  too  small  a  scale  for  my  tastes.  There's  three 
hundred  acres  adjoining  me  in  the  market  just  now, 
excellent  good  land  it  is.  I  wish  I  could  buy  it ;  but 
I  can't,  worse  luck." 

"  Ah,  well,"  Mr.  Semple  looked  at  the  healthy, 
joyous,  young  face,  "  your  lot  has  fallen  in  very  pleasant 
places.  You've  a  good  deal  to  be  thankful  for,  eh  ? " 

"  I  should  think  so,  sir,"  said  Dick,  heartily,  with  a 
side  glance  at  Dorothea's  charming  cheek  and  the  knot 
of  pale  gold  hair  under  her  big  hat,  "  especially  at  this 
moment." 


CHAPTER  VIH 

THE  VICAKAGE  PEOPLE 

IT  was  an  odd  freak  of  fate  that  had  placed  the  Rev. 
Clement  Arbuthnot  at  Greenheys,  for  he  was  an  uncon- 
ventional, zealous,  almost  unorthodox  person,  with  a 
love  for  the  poor  which  inclined  him  to  socialistic 
leanings,  and  a  compassion  for  the  rich  which  was  only 
for  their  poor  souls. 

It  had  been  something  of  a  shock  to  the  Ludlows 
and  others  of  the  landed  gentry  when  his  impassioned 
sermons  had  first  fallen  on  their  amazed  ears.  The 
Squire  could  remember  quite  well  when  his  father  had 
slept  all  through  old  Mr.  Bosanquet's  sermons,  in  the 
comfortable  privacy  of  the  great  square  pew,  with  its 
green  curtains,  and  cushions,  and  hassocks.  The  Squire 
had  been  going  that  way  himself — despite  the  cricket  and 
football,  he  had  been  acquiring  a  rotundity  of  figure  that 
disquieted  him ;  but  once  the  Rev.  Clement  came,  sleep 
during  the  sermon  was  impossible. 

I  have  said  that  he  was  almost  unorthodox ;  he  held 

91 


92  DICK  PENTEEATH 

the  oddest  views  indeed  to  the  minds  of  his  flock,  but 
none  could  doubt  his  sincerity.  His  sermons  were  so 
awakening  that  the  fame  of  them  reached  Warrender, 
a  few  miles  from  Greenheys,  the  dull,  ugly  little 
village  through  which  the  main  road  to  the  south  runs, 
which  is  a  hive  of  trade  and  dissent,  and  brought 
Warrender  folk  over  to  hear  for  themselves.  The 
Squire  would  never  have  given  ground  for  a  dissenting 
chapel  in  Greenheys,  and  it  was  one  of  the  Eev. 
Clement's  oddities  that  he  had  asked  the  Squire,  point 
blank,  "Why?" 

"  If  there  are  any  souls  here  that  I  cannot  reach," 
said  he,  "  why  not  let  the  Dissenters  have  a  chance  ? " 

However,  Warrender  Dissenters  came  and  listened 
to  Mr.  Arbuthnot,  and  came  again ;  and  there  was  no 
sign  of  any  desire  in  Greenheys  for  other  ministrations 
than  those  of  the  Vicar.  He  had  been  a  distinguished 
man  in  the  schools  at  Oxford,  and  his  scholarship  was 
yet  a  relaxation  and  a  delight  to  him,  but  he  had  not 
the  academic  coldness  which  makes  the  Church  of 
England  rather  a  church  for  gentlefolk  than  for  the 
poor.  He  could  try  a  fall  with  the  Devil  like  any 
Dissenter  of  them  all ;  he  could  wrestle  with  souls  ;  he 
could  convince  of  sin ;  his  sermons  were  "  exultations, 
agonies."  Even  Squire  Ludlow,  despite  the  oppor- 
tunity of  the  family  pew,  could  not  sleep  through  those 
burning  discourses. 


THE  VICARAGE   PEOPLE  93 

"  Very  different  from  old  Bosanquet,"  he  grumbled 
to  Mrs.  Ludlow ;  "  he  never  made  us  feel  miserable 
sinners." 

"  But  you  ought  to  be  made  feel  a  miserable  sinner," 
said  little  Mrs.  Ludlow,  who  was  High.  "  What's  the 
use  of  saying  it  if  you  don't  feel  it  ? " 

It  said  a  good  deal  for  Mr.  Arbuthnot's  personal 
charm  that  the  County  forgave  him  even  for  voting 
Kadical.  He  said  frankly  that  he  had  as  little  hope 
from  one  party  in  power  as  from  the  other,  only  the 
Kadicals  got  a  little  nearer  to  the  people.  The  County 
forgave  him,  to  be  sure,  but  it  was  sore  about  it ;  even 
Squire  Ludlow,  who  was  amiably  tolerant  of  divergences 
from  his  own  views.  Once,  when  there  was  a  contested 
election,  and  the  nearest  polling  station  was  at  some 
distance,  Mr.  Arbuthnot  actually  walked  across  the 
Park  to  ask  the  Squire  to  stay  at  home  from  voting,  as 
he  wanted  to  stay  at  home ;  his  horse  was  lame,  and 
there  were  some  parochial  matters  that  claimed  him 
with  special  urgency. 

"  If  you  stay  at  home  and  I  stay  at  home,"  said  he, 
"  it  will  be  just  the  same  as  if  we  both  went  and  voted 
for  different  candidates." 

The  Squire  burst  into  a  great  jolly  laugh  at  the 
suggestion. 

"  Imagine  my  not  going  to  vote  for  my  own  man," 
he  said.  "No,  no,  Arbuthnot,  that  would  never  do! 


94  DICK   PENTREATH 

But  I'll  tell  you  what  I  will  do.  I'll  drive  you  over. 
Kitty  will  do  the  distance  in  no  time ;  and  you'll  be 
back  in  good  time  for  your  christening,  or  your  mothers' 
meeting,  or  whatever  it  is." 

So  they  drove  off  together  to  nullify  each  other's 
votes,  Mr.  Arbuthnot  striving  laboriously  to  make  the 
Squire  see  that  they  might  just  as  well  have  stayed  at 
home,  the  Squire  protesting  that  he  couldn't  desert  his 
own  nominee,  and  both  men  the  best  of  friends. 

Mrs.  Arbuthnot  spent  a  great  part  of  her  life  in,  as 
she  fancied,  undoing  the  harm  her  husband's  unortho- 
dox ways  were  likely  to  do.  She  never  mentioned  his 
name  without  an  apology  implied  or  explicit. 

"  But  for  me,"  she  would  say,  shaking  her  silly  little 
fair  head,  "  he  would  now  be  in  a  London  slum.  You 
don't  know  how  long  it  took  me  to  persuade  him  that 
it  was  his  obvious  duty  for  my  sake  and  the  children's 
to  accept  a  country  living.  He  had  already  declined  so 
many,  saying  that  he  felt  called  to  a  more  strenuous  life 
than  these  could  afford  him.  I  wept,  I  prayed,  I  en- 
treated. I  told  him  that  a  man  with  so  many  children 
had  no  right  to  think  of  himself  before  them " 

"  Ah !  and  continually  dropping  wears  away  the 
stone,"  said  old  Mrs.  Ludlow  once,  on  being  the 
recipient  of  this  confidence.  Mrs.  Ludlow  had  a  sharp 
edge  to  her  tongue  which  people  like  Mrs.  Arbuthnot 
were  far  from  suspecting. 


THE   VICAEAGE   PEOPLE  95 

"Yes,"  she  said  complacently,  waving  her  fat  little 
hands  in  the  air ;  "  I  prevailed  at  last  and  brought  him 
into  this  pleasant  haven.  Of  course,  he  might  have  had 
a  greater  chance  of  preferment  elsewhere  " — she  wasn't 
going  to  let  old  Mrs.  Ludlow  think  that  they  might  not 
have  done  better  in  some  ways — "  but  still,  the  house 
and  garden  are  good,  and  there  is  pleasant  society ;  if  I 
could  keep  a  little  carriage  now,  dear  Mrs.  Ludlow, 
I  don't  know  that  I  should  have  much  left  to  wish  for." 

As  it  was,  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  managed  to  have  a  shabby 
little  governess- cart,  in  which  she  drove  herself  about 
on  her  visits  of  propitiation. 

In  time  it  was  only  the  nouveaux  riches,  and  the 
new-comers  among  them,  who  felt  aggrieved  by  the 
parson's  ways.  Indeed,  poor  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  might 
well  be  on  tenterhooks  as  to  what  her  Clement  might 
say  or  do  next.  It  was  so  unfortunate,  for  example, 
that  the  very  first  Sunday  Mrs.  Stiles,  the  great 
breweress,  newly-settled  in  the  neighbourhood,  came 
to  church,  the  Eev.  Clement  should  have  selected  as 
the  subject  for  his  sermon  the  parable  of  Lazarus  and 
the  Eich  Man.  Mrs.  Stiles  had  turned  all  manner  of 
colours  during  the  sermon,  and  had  received  Mrs. 
Arbuthnot  with  great  coldness  when  she  came  to  call. 

It  was  astonishing  what  courage  Mrs.  Arbuthnot 
had ;  perhaps  it  was  that  she  was  insensitive.  Any- 
how she  sat  on  despite  Mrs.  Stiles's  freezing  air ;  she 


96  DICK   PENTKEATH 

gushed  rapturously  over  Mrs.  Stiles's  belongings,  despite 
the  Arctic  reception  given  to  her  remarks.  But  she 
might  have  gone  away  disheartened  if  the  Squire  hadn't 
happened  to  drop  in  that  same  afternoon. 

Mrs.  Stiles  had  made  a  gentleman  of  her  son,  or 
perhaps  Nature  had  made  him  a  gentleman  and  money 
had  added  the  accessories ;  and  for  her  son's  sake  the 
County  was  willing  to  accept  Mrs.  Stiles.  He  had  been 
at  Eton  and  Oxford  with  the  Squire,  who  was  already 
busy  with  his  nomination  for  the  Hunt,  and  was  enroll- 
ing him  as  one  of  the  local  Eleven,  and  generally  making 
him  at  home  in  the  county. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Arbuthnot,"  the  Squire  said,  coming 
in  with  a  fresh  breeziness,  "  that  was  a  fine  sermon  the 
Vicar  gave  us  on  Sunday — hitting  the  rich  man,  as 
usuaL  I  hope  you'll  soon  get  used  to  it,  Mrs.  Stiles. 
We're  all  quite  hardened  by  this  time." 

"  Well,  I  never,"  said  Mrs.  Stiles,  ingenuously.  "  If 
I  didn't  think  he  meant  it  all  for  me ! " 

She  was  a  kindly  and  hospitable  soul,  and  perhaps 
she  was  glad  to  relax  her  cold  and  forbidding  manner. 
Anyhow,  she  dispensed  hot  tea-cake  and  fragrant  tea 
to  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  with  a  manner  as  though  she  loved 
her,  and  sent  the  little  woman  away  with  her  governess- 
cart  filled  to  overflowing  with  asparagus,  and  hothouse 
grapes,  and  peaches,  and  all  sorts  of  things  out  of  their 
season. 


THE   VICARAGE   PEOPLE  97 

"Harold  thinks  no  end  of  the  parson,"  she  said 
afterwards  to  the  Squire,  who  sat  awaiting  Harold's 
return.  "  And  though  I  was  angry  and  said  to  myself 
that  it  was  the  last  time  I'd  sit  there  to  be  insulted,  I 
couldn't  help  admiring  him  too.  Not  but  what  I  think 
that  money's  not  a  thing  to  be  sneezed  at,  whatever 
Harold  says." 

"Oh!  old  Harold  was  always  a  queer  chap.  I 
wonder  he  didn't  go  into  the  Church  himself,  Mrs. 
Stiles,  with  his  queer  ideas." 

"Now,  that's  the  odd  thing  about  Harold.  He 
wouldn't  do  that.  He  wouldn't  go  back  on  the  beer. 
As  he  says,  the  poor  people  might  be  better  if  they 
didn't  drink  so  much  beer,  but  as  they  will  have  it,  why, 
the  thing  is  to  give  it  to  them  good.  Harold  knows  as 
much  about  the  beer  as  any  one,  and  the  chief  brewer 
knows  what  he's  got  to  do.  If  the  beer  isn't  up  to 
standard,  it's  all  poured  out  into  the  river.  I  believe, 
in  his  way,  Harold  thinks  as  much  of  the  beer  as  I  do 
myself." 

She  finished  with  an  air  of  simple  pride,  and  the 
Squire  looked  at  her  with  unexpected  sympathy. 
He  himself  had  far  other  things  to  be  proud  of  than 
beer ;  why,  there  had  been  Ludlows  at  Agincourt,  and  on 
many  a  well-fought  field  since ;  still,  he  saw  the  point  of 
view,  and  that  was  a  matter  of  some  surprise  to  himself. 

"  And  why  not  ?  "   he  said  heartily.     "  After  all, 

H 


98  DICK  PENTBEATH 

beer  is  belonging  to  the  soil,  like  beef,  you  know. 
Harold  is  quite  right.  But  what  an  odd  fellow !  He 
looks  after  the  business,  and  finds  time  for  that  slum- 
ming work  of  his.  Very  remarkable !  I  hear,  Mrs. 
Stiles,  that  the  place  where  your  workmen  live  is  well 
worth  a  visit." 

Mrs.  Stiles  flushed  with  gratification  up  to  the 
straight  bands  of  purple-black  hair,  parted  in  neat 
curtains  on  her  forehead.  She  was  a  handsome  woman, 
after  her  fashion,  and  a  stately  one. 

"  Harold  did  all  that  himself,"  she  said.  "  I  re- 
member when  the  brewery  hands  lived  anyhow.  Now 
I  tell  him  he'll  spoil  them — what  with  libraries,  and 
swimming-baths,  and  billiard  tables,  and  what-not.  And 
such  pretty  houses,  each  with  its  bit  of  garden !  Me 
and  his  father  hadn't  the  like  when  we  were  married. 
To  be  sure,  there  was  Stiles' s  brewery  even  then — a 
little  bit  of  a  place ;  but  the  old  man  kept  us  uncom- 
monly tight.  But — dear,  dear,  how  I  run  on !  You 
shall  go  to  see  it,  one  day,  Mr.  Ludlow.  Harold  will 
be  pleased.  And  now  tell  me  " — a  sudden  shrewdness 
came  into  Mrs.  Stiles's  face — "  whatever  did  the  Vicar 
marry  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  for  ? " 

If  the  Squire  had  been  a  Frenchman  he  would  have 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  flung  out  his  hands.  Since 
he  was  not,  he  said  nothing,  but  only  looked  at  the  toes 
of  his*  serviceable  boots  very  intently,  and  remarked 


THE   VICARAGE   PEOPLE  99 

that  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  was  an  excellent  little  woman — 
"  All  those  children,  you  know ;  no  one  ever  knew  how 
she  did  it ;  such  a  lot  of  parish  work  too ;  and  keeping 
up  all  manner  of  things  that  Arbuthnot  would  never 
have  kept  up  for  himself." 

"  That's  just  it,"  said  Mrs.  Stiles.  "  He  wouldn't 
want  to  keep  them  up.  He  ought  to  be  called  Father 
Arbuthnot,  and  live  in  a  little  room  down  the  docks 
way,  like  one  I  know.  A  wife  and  family  and  a  genteel 
living  don't  seem  to  be  just  his  style,  somehow." 

The  Squire  was  not  one  to  talk  about  his  neighbours' 
business,  so  he  said  no  more. 

But  Mrs.  Stiles  was  not  the  first  nor  the  last  person 
to  wonder  over  the  Arbuthnot  marriage.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  the  marriage  had  been,  on  Clement  Arbuthnot's 
side,  a  mere  piece  of  Quixotism. 

A  revered  and  beloved  friend  had  died  in  poverty, 
leaving  nothing  behind  him  but  the  housewifely  little 
daughter  who  had  made  the  few  sixpences  go  as  far  as 
any  human  being  could.  There  was  nothing  for  the 
child,  nothing  but  the  poor-house ;  and  her  big  blue  eyes 
had  looked  terrified  inquiry  into  Clement  Arbuthnot's 
abstracted,  unworldly  grey  orbs,  only  too  sensible  now 
of  the  appeal  in  those  other  eyes.  He  had  had  far 
different  thoughts  for  his  own  future  than  that  he  should 
become  a  married  parson ;  nor  did  the  blue  eyes  make 
the  prospect  alluring  even  for  a  moment. 


100  DICK   PENTREATH 

He  made  an  effort  to  save  himself  from  the 
domesticity  he  did  not  desire.  He  placed  Mary 
Cassilis  with  an  elderly  lady  whom  he  could  trust, 
setting  aside  half  his  income  for  her  support. 

But,  to  be  sure,  the  position  was  untenable.  Mary's 
guardian  took  it  for  granted  that  he  was  to  marry  the 
girl  he  was  providing  for.  So,  it  became  apparent,  in 
her  fluttering,  ladylike  way,  did  Mary  herself.  It  was 
something  from  which  there  was  no  escaping. 

He  gave  up  the  future  which  he  had  mapped  out 
for  himself  with  pangs,  alleviated  little  by  the  approval 
of  his  conscience,  or  by  any  feeling  more  than  a  certain 
pity  for  Mary  Cassilis.  When  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  marry  her  he  still  clung  to  the  fringe  of  his 
dream.  It  might  be  possible  for  him  yet,  crippled  as 
he  would  necessarily  be,  to  work  where  there  were  the 
greater  dragons  to  overthrow,  although  he  could  never 
now  work  with  the  freedom  of  the  man  unfettered  by 
the  closer  human  ties. 

With  some  faint,  piteous  hope  that  Mary  might 
understand,  he  laid  bare  his  dreams  before  her,  toying 
with  her  yellow  hair — he,  whose  real  desire  was  for  the 
unfettered  service  of  the  Church  and  humanity,  and 
not  for  any  mortal  woman. 

Mary  was  sweetness  itself  as  she  listened  to  him. 
He  had  not  given  her  credit  for  such  generosity.  She 
was  willing  to  do  anything,  everything,  he  wished — to 


THE   VICARAGE   PEOPLE  101 

live  in  the  narrowest,  poorest  way ;  to  take  all  the  risks ; 
not  to  hamper  him  more  than  she  could  help.  Just 
for  that  one  hour  Clement  Arbuthnot  came  near  to 
loving  Mary  Cassilis. 

But  it  was  another  matter  when  they  were  married. 
Very  soon  the  small  soul,  with  its  small  needs  and 
ambitions,  was  laid  bare  to  the  eyes  of  his  despair. 
The  poor  lodgings  were  all  very  well  till  the  children 
began  to  come ;  then  things  that  had  been  permissible  to 
youthful  enthusiasm  were  no  longer  right  and  desirable. 

By  what  persistent  sapping  and  mining  Mrs.  Arbuth- 
not broke  down  her  husband's  defences,  it  would  take 
too  long  to  tell.  They  had  hardly  been  a  week  married 
before  she  was  asking  little  tentative  questions  about 
influential  friends — friends  of  many  sorts  had  come  to 
Clement  Arbuthnot,  whether  he  would  or  not — and 
livings  and  preferment.  After  the  first  baby  was  born 
she  wept  for  a  week  because  of  the  unloveliness  of  her 
surroundings.  The  tears  were  worse  than  anything 
else  to  a  man  of  her  husband's  sensitiveness.  Pre- 
ferment was  offered  to  him  and  he  took  it,  but  in  a 
sphere  where  there  was  plenty  of  the  work  his  soul 
loved,  although  it  was  accompanied  by  a  rectory  and 
appurtenances ;  and  he  was  happy,  although  he  never 
lost  the  sense  of  his  hands  being  tied. 

However,  an  East  End  rectory  did  not  suit  Mrs. 
Arbuthnot.  It  was  wonderful  how  exacting  she  had 


102  DICK  PENTREATH 

become,  seeing  that  with  her  old  scholarly  father  she 
had  lived  in  an  obscure  and  humble  way.  The  lust  of 
the  eye  and  the  pride  of  life  were  strong  in  the  little 
woman,  although  they  had  no  very  extravagant  mani- 
festations. If  it  had  been  a  West  End  rectory  now, 
with  society,  and  the  shops,  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  might  not 
have  found  that  the  children  throve  so  badly  in  town. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  there  was  a  cool  breeze  from  the 
river  most  days  of  the  year  blowing  in  at  St.  Aldate's 
Vicarage  windows.  But  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  could  not 
breathe  there ;  and  the  children's  pale  cheeks  and  heavy 
eyes,  their  hundred  and  one  ailments,  were  for  ever 
being  talked  of  to  the  father,  who  was  a  tender  one  to 
that  extent  that  he  was  afraid  of  the  tenderness  lest  it 
should  push  out  those  to  whom  his  spiritual  fatherhood 
was  owing. 

Mr.  Arbuthnot  himself  never  knew  how  it  was  that 
the  Greenheys  living  was  offered  to  him.  If  he  sus- 
pected his  wife  who  had  an  endless  capacity  for 
managing  and  intriguing,  he  said  nothing.  The  sluggish- 
ness of  a  cure  of  souls  in  such  a  place  as  Greenheys 
was  the  last  thing  he  would  have  desired.  He  thought 
with  a  little  scorn  of  himself  of  how  the  prospect  would 
have  presented  itself  to  him  in  his  eager  youth.  But 
now  he  was  middle-aged,  he  was  disillusioned,  he  had 
a  large  family.  And  his  wife  was  determined  that  they 
should  leave  St.  Aldate's.  He  might  resist  once,  twice, 


THE  VICARAGE   PEOPLE  103 

a  hundred  times.  There  was  a  deadly  persistence  about 
Mrs.  Arbuthnot  that  did  not  know  what  it  was  to  be 
beaten.  And,  as  any  one  might  have  foreseen,  she  had 
her  way. 

"  You  enviable  fellow !  "  said  Mr.  Semple  that  after- 
noon, as  they  walked  down  the  garden  where  the  pear 
and  plum  trees  were  already  in  blossom ;  it  was  a  very 
early  year.  "I  passed  by  your  old  house  the  other 
day.  There  is  a  soap  factory  just  in  front  of  it.  It 
smelt  atrociously.  How  lucky  you  are  to  have  ex- 
changed it  for  this  Paradise  !  " 

Mr.  Arbuthnot  looked  up  at  him  with  a  certain 
wistful  timidity. 

"  Come  into  my  study,"  he  said,  "  and  tell  me  about 
your  work.  Our  wives  seem  happy  together  and  Dick 
is  looking  after  your  girl.  You  have  some  pretty  bad 
places,  haven't  you?  Those  dangerous  trades,  now; 
you  are  in  the  middle  of  them,  aren't  you  ?  Tell  me 
what  you  do  to  help  them— the  people,  I  mean.  It 
seems  hundreds  of  years  since  I  was  there.  You  don't 
know  what  a  Sleepy  Hollow  this  is.  Do  I  look  like 
Eip  Van  Winkle  ?  I  feel  like  him." 

He  sat  with  his  hand  shading  his  eyes  while  they 
talked  in  the  study,  the  half  glass  door  of  which  opened 
on  a  little  path  between  beds  of  wallflowers  and  heavily- 
scented  narcissi.  Now  and  again  he  put  in  an  eager 
question. 


104  DICK   PENTREATH 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Semple  to  his  wife  aftei 
they  had  returned,  "  I  have  the  oddest  idea  that  Arbuth- 
not  regrets  the  East  End.  Very  unlikely  he  should, 
you  know,  but  still " 

"  He  looks  old,"  said  Mrs.  Semple,  musingly.  "  He 
used  to  be  so  handsome.  And  how  young  Mrs.  Arbuth- 
not  manages  to  keep!  With  all  those  children,  too! 
What  a  fortunate  thing  for  him  to  have  married  that 
excellent,  energetic  little  woman ! " 


CHAPTER  IX 

YOUNG  LOVE 

ON  his  arrival  at  the  Vicarage,  Dick  had  been  seized  on 
by  half  a  dozen  young  Arbuthnots,  who  wanted  a  ride 
on  his  foot,  or  "  to  walk  up  "  him  from  his  knee  to  the 
top  of  his  head,  or  to  be  carried  pick-a-back,  or  one  of 
twenty  other  things.  Fortunately,  his  rough  Irish 
homespuns  lent  themselves  to  these  diversions;  but 
Miss  Semple,  watching  him,  had  an  idea  that  he  would 
not  have  objected  if  he  had  worn  the  frock-coat  and 
grey  trousers  of  conventional  town-life.  She  looked  at 
him  with  approval  in  her  eyes  as  he  carried  Robin, 
aged  three,  round  the  garden  on  his  shoulders,  the 
little  excited  hot  hands  clasping  him  about  the  neck, 
the  small  hobnailed  boots  resting  on  his  white  shirt- 
front. 

To  her  equals  and  elders,  Dorothea,  at  this  time 
may  have  seemed  a  little  chilly — a  little  austere  and 
delicate,  like  her  sister  lily ;  but  children  were  not  at 
all  afraid  of  her,  nor  were  dogs,  being  wiser  to  pierce 

105 


106  DICK  PENTREATH 

through  the  slightly  hard  and  ignorant  coldness  of  her 
youth. 

Anyhow,  after  the  smaller  children  had  enjoyed  a 
ride  on  Sancho,  who  bore  it  amiably  although  with  a 
certain  air  of  discomfort,  they  were  all  for  games  in 
which  Dorothea  must  play  a  part. 

The  wind  and  the  sun  were  like  June  albeit  the 
day  was  April's,  and  there  could  be  no  better  place  for 
games  than  the  roomy  old  garden.  Dorothea  played 
with  a  will,  having  taken  the  precaution  of  removing 
her  hat  and  hanging  it  on  the  bough  of  a  tree.  You 
could  not  imagine  anything  more  unsullied,  fresher, 
neater,  sweeter,  than  Dorothea.  She  had  the  art  of 
romping  without  disordering  so  much  as  a  hair  of  her 
shining  head.  She  never  became  hot  or  untidy.  She 
sat  on  the  grass  with  the  children  rolling  over  her. 
She  played  at  Oranges  and  Lemons  and  Nuts  in  May, 
and  was  dragged  hither  and  thither  by  a  wild  chain  of 
children.  She  had  her  own  dainty,  green-spotted  white 
scarf  bound  round  her  eyes  for  Blindman's  Buff.  How 
Dick's  hands  trembled  as  he  tied  the  scarf,  and  how 
long  he  took  over  it ! 

"Upon  my  word,  I  envy  you,  Miss  Semple,"  he 
said,  when  the  unwilling  children  had  been  captured 
and  carried  off  to  the  nursery  tea.  He  was  flushed 
and  joyous ;  his  collar  was  pulled  open ;  his  tie  was 
awry ;  there  was  dust  on  the  shirt-front  that  had  been 


YOUNG  LOVE  107 

so  immaculate ;  his  sleek  waving  hair  was  rumpled  all 
over  his  head.  "  How  fresh  you  look  !  I  shall  have 
to  go  and  set  myself  straight  before  we  go  in  to  tea ; 
while  you — you  look  as  if  you  came  out  of  a  bandbox." 

"  This  is  a  serviceable  frock,"  said  Dorothea,  looking 
down  at  it. 

"  By  Jove,  is  it  ? "  asked  the  young  fellow,  with 
ingenuous  admiration.  "  It  is  so  pretty  that  I  thought 
it  must  be  perishable — like  flowers  and  things,  you 
know." 

They  went  towards  the  house,  where  Dick  dis- 
appeared upstairs,  being  apparently  on  terms  of  most 
easy  intimacy  at  the  Vicarage,  and  Dorothea  went  on 
to  the  drawing-room.  She  found  the  two  mothers  deep 
in  conversation.  Mrs.  Semple,  with  a  far  better  mental 
equipment  than  Mrs.  Arbuthnot,  was  able  to  meet  her 
on  the  common  ground  of  domestic  affairs,  children, 
and  parish  work.  Mrs.  Arbuthnot,  with  her  incessant 
striving  after  a  different  kind  of  life  from  her  own,  did 
not  often  enjoy  a  conversation  so  much  to  her  mind  ; 
and  her  eyes,  as  she  turned  them  towards  Dorothea, 
had  an  abstracted  expression. 

The  tea  had  just  been  brought  in. 

"  Would  you  pour  it  out  for  me,  my  dear  ? "  asked 
Mrs.  Arbuthnot,  from  her  easy  chair.  "  I  often  wish 
one  of  my  girls  was  grown  up,  so  as  to  take  those  little 
duties  off  my  hands.  But,  as  it  happens,  my  girls 


108  DICK  PENTREATH 

come  at  the  end  of  the  family.  If  Audrey  had  been 
the  eldest  instead  of  Greville,  I  should  be  having  ever 
so  much  easier  a  time  by  now." 

"Girls  are  a  great  comfort,"  Mrs.  Semple  said. 
"  There  was  a  time  when  I  wished  for  a  boy ;  but  I 
don't  now.  My  girls  are  so  very  good." 

"  I  shouldn't  have  been  happy  without  boys,"  Mrs. 
Arbuthnot  replied.  "  Of  course,  they  are  much  more 
expensive  and  more  troublesome,  always.  Still,  a  boy 
is  a  boy." 

Mrs.  Semple  was  not  offended.  It  was  not  really  a 
case  of  sour  grapes  with  her,  as  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  sus- 
pected. She  agreed  with  what  she  could  of  the  sen- 
tence as  was  her  way,  with  no  suspicion  that  Mrs. 
Arbuthnot  thought  her  envious  of  Greville,  and  Paget, 
and  Leslie,  and  Robin. 

"  Shall  I  pour  out  tea  for  papa  and  Mr.  Arbuthnot  ? " 
asked  Dorothea,  from  the  tea-table. 

"  If  you  please  ;  and  then,  if  you  will,  ring  the  bell 
for  one  of  the  maids  to  take  it  across  to  the  study " 

"  Please  let  me  do  it." 

Dorothea  made  one  or  two  expeditions  to  the  study, 
and  was  back  again  in  time  to  pour  out  Dick's  tea.  He 
drank  three  cups,  with  a  great  deal  of  sugar  and  cream, 
in  rapid  succession,  looking  at  Dorothea  the  while  as 
much  as  he  dared.  The  conversation  by  the  fireplace — 
there  was  a  comfortable  fire  in  the  grate,  although  the 


YOUNG  LOVE  109 

windows  were  well  open — which  included  them  for  a  few 
moments,  had  now  gone  back  again  to  the  old  topics. 
Paget's  tendency  to  croupiness  was  at  the  moment 
under  discussion,  and  the  ladies  were  divided  as  to  the 
desirability  of  hot  baths,  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  citing  Cha- 
vasse  in  their  favour  and  Mrs.  Semple  dissenting. 

The  tea-pot  had  run  dry;  and  Dick  glanced  from 
the  matrons  at  the  fireplace  to  Dorothea  with  a  whim- 
sical air. 

"Noplace  for  us?"  his  eyes  said.  Then  he  sug- 
gested aloud  that  he  should  make  Dorothea  acquainted 
with  the  village. 

"  Please  do,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot,  abstractedly. 

"  We  won't  be  going  just  yet  awhile  ? "  said  Dick, 
hastily,  as  Mrs.  Semple  glanced  around  at  him  with  an 
air  of  imminent  departure. 

"  To  be  sure  not,"  said  Mrs.  Arbuthnot.  "  My 
husband  will  not  be  ready  to  part  with  Mr.  Semple  for 
a  long  time  yet.  This  is  the  country,  you  know,  Mrs. 
Semple ;  we  don't  pay  ceremonious  visits.  Couldn't 
you  all  stay  for  dinner  ?  It  would  be  such  a  pleasure 
if  you  could.  To  be  sure,  if  I  had  known  in  time  I 
would  have  asked  you  before." 

The  invitation  was  given  with  genuine  warmth.  In 
whatever  other  way  Mrs.  Arbuthnot's  blood  ran  thinly 
she  was  genuinely  hospitable,  and  she  was  really  feeling 
the  afternoon  very  restful  and  pleasant.  Once  the 


110  DICK   PENTBEATH 

children  had  gone  in  to  tea  they  reappeared  no  more  for 
the  day ;  the  next  event  was  the  nightly  bath,  followed 
by  bed.  Poor  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  was  often  glad  enough 
when  that  cessation  of  the  day's  cares  came.  Often  her 
little  feet  ached,  her  back  was  weary,  by  the  children's 
bedtime.  Between  what  she  must  do  and  what  she 
thought  she  must  do,  the  little  woman's  days  were 
laborious  enough. 

"Do,"  she  said,  seeing  that  Mrs.  Semple  looked 
questioningly  at  her  host.  "  Please  do  !  My  husband 
will  be  so  delighted.  And  we  can  have  some  music  after 
dinner ;  I  am  sure  Miss  Semple  is  musical. — Do,  Dick ! 
— Dick  always  does  what  we  want ;  that  is  why  we  are 
so  fond  of  him. — Is  it  Mrs.  Maidment  ?  Supposing  you 
and  Miss  Semple  walk  back  to  Oakhurst  and  let  her 
know?" 

Dick  didn't  mind  so  long  as  he  was  with  Dorothea. 
On  the  whole  a  dinner  at  the  Vicarage  gave  him  greater 
opportunities  for  that  than  a  dinner  at  home,  where  he 
would  have  to  entertain  his  elder  guests. 

"  You  are  not  too  tired,  Miss  Semple  ? "  he  began. 

"  I  am  never  tired,"  Dorothea  answered.  "  I  am  so 
strong,  and  I  walk  a  great  deal,  even  in  town.  It  is 
another  thing  walking  in  the  country.  That  is  refresh- 
ment." 

They  set  off  briskly,  side  by  side.  The  village 
straggled  a  little  way  towards  Oakhurst.  People  came 


YOUNG  LOVE  111 

to  their  doors  to  see  Mr.  Pentreath  and  the  young  lady 
go  by.  They  had  an  air  of  wishing  Dick  joy,  though 
they  were  too  discreet  to  say  it.  The  women's  faces 
beamed  on  him.  The  children  dropped  funny  little 
bobs  before  him,  and  were  sent  off  happy  with  pennies 
to  buy  sugar-stick.  Old  John  Fenn,  twisted  and 
doubled  up  with  rheumatism,  was  airing  his  old  bones 
in  the  sun.  Dick  stopped  to  ask  him  how  he  was,  and 
incidentally  Dorothea  learned  that  the  Squire  had  built 
a  new  fireplace  in  John's  kitchen,  where  the  old  chimney 
had  smoked  so  much  that  the  door  had  always  to  be 
kept  open,  however  the  wind  blew. 

"  The  Squire,  'e  can't  be  expected  to  think  o'  the 
poor,"  said  John,  with  unintentional  cynicism.  "  Wot 
with  sittin'  on  the  Bench,  an'  the  'ounds,  an'  that  there 
fancy  farmin'  of  'is,  and  enjoyin'  of  hisself  one  way  or 
another !  'E'd  never  'ave  thought  of  it  if  you  'adn't 
spoke  to  'im,  Master  Dick." 

"You  should  have  spoken  to  him  yourself,"  said 
Dick,  blushing  under  his  divinity's  clear  eyes.  "  The 
Squire  will  always  do  anything  in  reason,  John." 

"  Aye,  aye,  anything  in  reason,"  said  John,  shuffling 
off.  "  There  isn't  a  chimbley  in  the  village  but  wot 
smokes,  and  the  cottages  be  terribly  unhealthy.  Town 
folks  comes  an'  gapes  at  'em,  an'  says, '  How  pretty ! ' 
They  wouldn't  like  to  live  a  winter  through  in  'em." 

"  I'm  so  sorry  John  has  shown  you  the  seamy  side  of 


112  DICK  PENTREATH 

rural  life,"  said  Dick,  apologetically ;  they  were  almost 
clear  of  the  village  by  this,  and  could  proceed  undis- 
turbed by  meeting  so  many  friends.  "  I'm  afraid  it's 
too  true.  The  Squire  would  do  anything  he  could  for 
them  ;  but  he  is  really  one  of  the  poorest  men  about 
here.  There  are  so  many  charges  on  the  estate,  and  it 
was  so  neglected  when  he  succeeded  his  cousin.  The 
woods  were  no  better  than  a  common,  and  the  people 
poached  what  they  liked.  The  last  Squire  was  an 
elderly  invalid.  Ludlow  has  had  to  fence  the  woods 
for  miles  and  lay  down  game  and  do  no  end  of  repairs 
to  the  Manor  House  as  well." 

"He  ought  to  see  that  the  people  live  healthily 
before  he  does  any  of  those  things,"  said  Dorothea,  with 
that  hardening  of  her  young  face  which  had  smitten 
Dick  once  or  twice  before  with  a  mysterious  terror. 
Supposing  she  were  ever  to  look  like  that  at  him  1 

"Ah I  here  is  another  rheumatic  patient,"  he  said, 
as  though  he  were  -glad  to  change  the  subject.  "  Well, 
old  fellow,  is  the  sun  pleasant  on  your  aching 
bones  ?  " 

The  big  shaggy  old  Irish  terrier,  who  had  been 
sitting  under  the  lee  of  a  house- wall,  got  up  and  limped 
to  Dick  and  thrust  his  grey  muzzle  into  Dick's  hand. 

"  He  suffers  a  lot,  poor  old  chap,"  Dick  explained. 
"  I've  heard  him  howl  with  pain  ;  it  has  been  horrible. 
But  Mrs.  Norris,  who  owns  him,  won't  have 


YOUNG   LOVE  113 

chloroformed;  she  says  he  gets  a  lot  of  good  out  of 
life  still,  and  I  dare  say  he  does,  when  the  wind  is  not 
in  the  east,  nor  the  damp  finding  out  his  weak  places." 

The  old  dog  limped  back  to  his  place,  and  Sancho 
wagged  his  beautiful  white  feather  of  a  tail  as  much 
as  to  say  he  sympathized  deeply  with  his  suffering 
brother. 

Then  a  young  woman  with  a  baby  in  her  arms  came 
out  of  the  cottage  and  spoke  to  Dick,  and  recounted  all 
old  Keeper's  symptoms,  beaming  on  Dick  in  the  same 
way  the  others  had  done.  And  Sancho  came  to  be 
petted,  and  the  baby  had  to  be  put  down  on  his  two 
pink  feet  in  the  dust  of  the  road  to  talk  to  Sancho, 
which  he  did  with  two  fat  arms  hugging  Sancho's  beau- 
tiful head,  while  old  Keeper  blinked  in  the  sun,  with 
his  nose  on  his  paws,  and  his  face  wearing  the  unhappy 
expression  an  Irish  terrier's  face  always  wears,  whatever 
be  its  owner's  condition. 

All  these  happenings  spun  the  walk  out  unduly ; 
but  it  could  not  have  been  too  long  for  Dick's  taste. 

Dorothea  waited  for  him  on  the  lawn,  yellow  with 
daffodils,  while  he  found  Mrs.  Maidment,  and  explained 
that  they  were  dining  at  the  Vicarage. 

When  he  came  out  and  joined  her,  she  turned  to 
him  with  a  soft  and  grateful  expression  in  her  beautiful 
eyes. 

"  I  haven't  told  you,"  she  said,  "  how  delighted  I 

i 


114  DICK   PENTREATH 

am  with  the  outlook  from  my  room.  It  is  so  lovely ! 
It  is  even  lovelier  than  the  room  Mother  is  in." 

"  I  know,"  he  said,  walking  along  at  her  side.  "  I 
was  a  great  deal  in  that  room  when  I  was  a  little  kid. 
It  was  my  mother's  room." 

"Ah!" 

"  I  thought  you  would  like  it.  Mrs.  Maidment 
had  allotted  the  rooms  the  other  way  about,  and  for 
the  first  time  in  my  life  I  interfered  with  her  arrange- 
ments. The  nightingales  sing  in  that  little  coppice  at 
the  end  of  the  lawn.  You  will  hear  them  to-night,  if 
you  do  not  sleep  too  soundly." 

"Shall  I?  What  joy!  Do  you  know,  I  have 
never  heard  a  nightingale  ?  I  have  never  been  in  the 
country  at  just  this  time  of  year.  Our  holidays  always 
came  so  much  later.  I  used  to  guess  how  the  country 
must  look  from  the  trees  in  town.  They  are  so  heavenly 
against  the  background  of  grime.  The  black  branches 
with  the  pale-green  leafage  are  so  strange." 

"  Don't  build  too  much  on  the  nightingales,"  said 
Dick,  soberly.  "  I  like  a  thrush  just  as  well  myself ; 
only,  the  thrush  doesn't  sing  at  night.  I  don't  want 
you  to  be  disappointed." 

"  I  couldn't  be  disappointed  in  anything  here,"  said 
Dorothea,  unwontedly  expansive. 

He  sent  her  a  glance  of  passionate  pleasure,  which 
for  the  moment  confused  her. 


YOUNG  LOVE  115 

"  It  is  all  so  sweet,"  she  said,  her  words  stumbling 
a  little — "  the  house  and  everything.  And  the  servants 
— so  different  from  anything  we  are  used  to — so  staid 
and  gentle  and  efficient." 

"  They've  always  been  with  us,"  said  Dick.  "  I  am 
so  glad  you  like  it  all.  I  love  the  old  house.  There 
has  never  been  any  trouble  there — only  death.  Perhaps 
that  isn't  a  trouble,  if  we  knew.  I  remember  when  I 
used  to  fancy  I  heard  the  rustle  of  my  mother's  silk 
dress — after  she  had  left  me.  I  have  never  lost  the 
sense  of  her  presence  about  the  house  since." 

"  That  is  her  picture  in  the  library  ?  "  asked  Doro- 
thea, in  a  hushed  voice. 

"  You  noticed  it  ? " 

The  lover  was  delighted  at  the  proof  of  his  lady's 
observation ;  perhaps  he  built  upon  it  unduly,  as  lovers 
will  who  are  easily  elated,  easily  depressed,  by  things 
which  have  no  significance  for  the  rest  of  the  world. 

"  How  could  I  help  it  ?     She  is  so  beautiful." 

"  I  remember  her  as  she  sat  to  be  painted.  I  couldn't 
have  been  more  than  four.  It  is  like  a  dream.  I 
thought  her  the  most  beautiful  thing  in  the 'world 
sitting  so,  with  the  light  on  her  brown  hair  and  her 
dear  hands  laid  lightly  together  in  her  white  satin  lap. 
She  had  beautiful  brown  eyes,  almost  the  same  colour 
as  Sancho's."  Hearing  his  name,  the  dog  trotted  back 
to  them  and  laid  his  muzzle  in  his  master's  hand. 


116  DICK  PENTREATH 

"  There,  there,  old  fellow,  I  didn't  call  you.  It  is  a 
beautiful  picture,  isn't  it,  Miss  Semple  ?  The  painter 
died  a  comparatively  young  man.  I  don't  think  he 
ever  came  to  much.  But  it  is  a  beautiful  picture — 
more  than  that,  it  is  herself." 

"  And  you  have  given  me.  her  room  ?  "  said  Doro- 
thea, under  her  breath. 

"  I  have  given  you  her  room."  He  laughed  shyly, 
throwing  back  his  head.  "  I  don't  meddle  with  such 
things,  as  I  have  told  you.  But  I  love  to  think  of  you 
there.  The  room  is  lonely  no  longer.  The  Bride's 
Boom — that  is  what  it  has  always  been  called.  It  has 
been  lonely  till  now,  since  she  went  away  and  left  it." 

The  moment  was  electrical.  His  passion  was 
hurrying  him  on,  while  he  was  saying  to  himself  that 
it  was  too  soon  to  speak,  much  too  soon  to  speak,  lest 
he  should  frighten  her.  Yet  her  face  was  as  though 
there  had  been  a  moving  of  the  waters;  the  young 
tranquillity  of  it  was  momentarily  lost. 

Then  the  occasion  had  passed.  They  were  out  in 
the  high-road,  and  some  one  was  coming  towards  them, 
whom  Sancho  had  flown  to  welcome  with  transports  of 

joy." 

"  It  is  Lady  Stella  Gascoigne,"  said  Dick,  going 
almost  as  eagerly  as  Sancho  to  meet  the  new-comer. 

"  I  was  coming  to  call,"  said  Lady  Stella,  looking 
with  extreme  kindness  at  Dorothea.  "  I  was  eager  to 


YOUNG  LOVE  117 

welcome  your  friends,  Dick,  so  I  walked  over,  Arthur 
and  Mr.  Goldhawk  having  gone  out  for  a  trial  spin  in 
Arthur's  new  Mercedes  car." 

"We  are  all  at  the  Vicarage,"  said  Dick.  "Won't 
you  walk  back  there  with  us  ?  Mrs.  Arbuthnot  has 
invited  us  to  an  informal  dinner.  We  have  not  even 
had  to  go  home  to  dress.  Miss  Semple — Lady  Stella 
Gascoigne." 

Lady  Stella  took  Dorothea's  hand  in  hers,  and  laid 
her  other  hand  over  it  in  a  caressing  way.  Dorothea, 
who  was  little  like  other  girls,  was  suddenly  attracted 
and  charmed,  as  many  girls  are  by  older  women. 

"You  are  very  kind,"  she  said,  and  then  looked 
down. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  her  ? "  Dick's  eyes  asked 
in  the  little  pause.  "  Isn't  she  all  I  said  ? " 

Lady  Stella  sent  one  tender  almost  maternal 
glance  at  Dorothea's  charming  face.  Then  she  looked 
back  at  Dick,  and  her  eyes  gave  him  full  assurance. 
When  Stella  Gascoigne  did  a  thing,  she  did  not  do  it 
by  halves. 


CHAPTER  X 

"HE  WOULD  LOVE  AND  SHE  WOULD  NOT*' 

THEY  walked  back  to  the  Vicarage  together,  passing  by 
the  Vicarage  gate  and  going  on  to  the  seat  round  the 
great  elm  tree  which  overlooked  the  Village  Green. 

The  very  first  cricket  match  of  the  season  was  in 
progress.  Anticipating  the  summer,  there  were  two  or 
three  white  bell  tents  at  the  side  of  the  Green,  where 
some  ladies,  whose  young  hopefuls  were  taking  part  in 
the  cricket,  had  been  dispensing  tea.  There  were  rows 
of  chairs  on  the  high  ground  under  the  elms  overlook- 
ing the  Green  and  the  cricket,  on  which  mothers  and 
sisters  sat  watching  the  game.  A  girl  of  fourteen,  with 
a  fair  plait  down  her  back,  was  keeping  the  score.  She 
was  one  of  the  innumerable  young  Kingscotes.  Her 
brothers,  Hector  and  Charlie,  were  playing  for  Green- 
heys.  So  was  the  Squire,  and  Mr.  Nigel,  Mr.  Arbuth- 
not's  curate,  and  Greville  Arbuthnot. 

The  seat  around  the  elm  tree  was  just  far  enough 
away  from  the  cricketers  not  to  be  in  great  request; 

118 


"HE   WOULD  LOVE   AND  SHE   WOULD  NOT"    119 

so  they  had  it  to  themselves.  The  Green  spread  away 
from  them  down  to  the  standing  ponds,  full  of  water- 
lilies,  harbouring  many  water-hens,  and  at  this  moment 
a  pair  of  swans  and  a  cygnet,  who  might  be  met  wander- 
ing along  the  dusty  high-road  through  the  village  street 
any  day,  on  their  way  from  one  pond  to  another. 
Beyond  the  pond  were  the  gabled  houses  which  the 
artists  came  to  paint,  delightfully  picturesque,  at  least ; 
beyond  them  the  Manor  House  park  and  the  distant 
hills.  The  clean  sky  was  palest  yellow  and  rose;  in 
a  lilac  stretch  of  it  a  little  sickle  of  a  moon  hung  with 
the  evening  star  within  its  crescent.  The  outlines  of 
the  hills  were  sharply  defined  against  that  background 
of  luminous  air. 

There  was  something  indefinably  tender  and  caress- 
ing in  Lady  Stella's  manner  to  Dorothea.  She  leant 
back  a  little  with  her  head  against  the  gnarled  elm 
bough,  and  sent  wistful,  anxious  glances  at  the  young 
girl's  profile.  What  she  saw  there  seemed  to  reassure 
her;  the  beautifully-moulded  chin,  the  firm,  sweet 
mouth,  the  pure  and  tranquil  expression,  were  reassur- 
ing. She  could  not  have  trusted  many  women  with 
Dick's  happiness ;  since  it  was  taken  out  of  her  hands, 
she  must  be  glad  that  it  was  given  in  charge  to  one 
who  looked  the  promise  of  a  noble  womanhood  as  did 
Dorothea. 

Sancho  came  and  sat  with  his  chin  resting  on  Lady 


120  DICK  PENTREATH 

Stella's  knee,  his  eyes  searching  her  face  with  anxious 
love. 

"  How  he  adores  you ! "  said  Dorothea. 

"He  will  never  love  any  one  quite  so  well,  after 
his  unworthy  master,"  said  Dick. 

"  Wait  till  he  knows  you  better ! "  said  Lady  Stella 
to  Dorothea. 

Dick  laughed,  a  well-pleased  laugh.  "Even  then 
Miss  Semple  will  not  push  you  out,  Stella.  Sancho 
knows  his  own  mind." 

Lady  Stella  felt  oddly  grateful  to  him ;  it  brought 
her  a  sense  of  comfort  that  he  believed  she  would 
always  hold  first  place  with  Sancho  and  was  glad  of 
it.  In  Dick's  mood  it  might  well  have  been  that  he 
would  expect  Sancho  too  to  go  down  before  the  all- 
conquering,  perfect  woman.  That  he  did  not  even 
desire  it  to  be  so  touched  and  pleased  Lady  Stella 
greatly. 

"  I  am  not  surprised,"  said  Dorothea,  with  a  little 
blush  that  became  her.  "  Sancho  is  a  very  wise  dog." 

Lady  Stella  put  out  her  hand,  ungloved  and  shapely, 
and  laid  it  caressingly  on  Dorothea's  for  an  instant; 
then  withdrew  it.  She,  too,  blushed;  demonstrations 
were  not  very  much  in  her  way. 

"  I  must  go  and  speak  to  some  of  my  friends,"  she 
said.  "  I  see  one  or  two  of  them  looking  this  way." 

She  left  the  lovers  beneath  the  elm  tree  and  joined 


"HE  WOULD  LOVE  AND  SHE  WOULD  NOT*   121 

the  rows  of  ladies  who  were  watching  the  cricket.  She 
spoke  to  young  Mrs.  Ludlow,  to  the  doctor's  wife,  and 
to  old  Lady  Kingscote,  and  when  she  had  found  a  seat, 
nodded  and  smiled  her  greetings  to  others  beyond  her 
immediate  neighbours.  She  took  the  chair  behind 
Mabel  Kingscote's.  While  she  had  sat  with  the  lovers 
she  had  noticed  the  one  swift  glance  which  Mabel  had 
sent  their  way  and  the  averting  of  the  head;  with 
acute  sympathy  she  had  felt  that  although  Mabel 
looked  no  more  not  the  tiniest  bit  of  the  significance 
of  Dick's  manner  had  failed  to  reach  her  consciousness. 

"  How  does  the  cricket  go  ? "  she  asked. 

Mabel  glanced  towards  the  board.  "  Greenheys  is 
still  leading,"  she  answered ;  and  her  voice  was  tired. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here  ? " 

"  All  the  afternoon.  The  boys  would  be  dreadfully 
offended  if  we  stirred.  Seeing  that  they  have  so  much 
contempt  for  us  as  cricketers,  excepting  Molly — Molly 
is  keeping  the  score — it's  surprising  how  much  stress 
they  lay  on  our  being  present.  Ah,  poor  Charlie  is  out ! 
Only  got  a  duck,  too !  Poor  Charlie !  we  shall  have  to 
recall  all  the  famous  cricketers  and  the  occasions  on 
which  they  made  ducks  or  even  a  pair  of  spectacles 
to  console  him." 

Young  Kingscote  was  coming  out  with  an  air  of 
nonchalance,  and  the  good-natured  ladies  began  to  clap 
their  hands  vehemently. 


122  DICK  PENTREATH 

"  How  furious  Charlie  will  be ! "  said  Molly  Kings- 
cote  in  an  excited  whisper,  leaning  across  Lady  Stella 
to  Mabel's  ear.  "  He'll  say  it's  what  they  do  when  a 
kid  is  out  for  a  duck.  They  ought  to  treat  him  like 
a  man  and  say  nothing  about  it" 

Lady  Stella  smiled  quietly  to  herself.  Molly  had 
fled  back  to  her  place  by  the  board  after  delivering 
herself  of  this  impassioned  protest. 

"Do  you  think  you  would  like  to  come  home  to 
dinner  with  me,  Mab  ? "  she  said,  using  the  girl's  pet 
name.  "  Shall  I  ask  your  grandmother  ?  My  brother 
and  Mr.  Goldhawk  are  out  in  the  new  car.  They  will 
probably  return  this  way,  and  we  can  drive  home  with 
them,  unless  you  would  like  to  walk.  What  do  you 
say?" 

"  I  should  love  to,"  said  Mabel,  in  a  dispirited  little 
voice.  "  You  could  send  me  home,  Lady  Stella  ?  " 

"  Unless  you  would  like  to  stay  for  the  night." 

"  I  should  love  to  come  Will  you  ask  Gran,  Lady 
Stella  ?  And  I  think  I  should  like  to  walk.  I  am  quite 
cramped  sitting  here.  Could  we  go  now — before  the 
match  is  over  and  they  all  come  up  and  speak  to  us  ? " 

"  Just  wait  a  minute,  dear." 

There  was  no  difficulty  about  old  Lady  Kingscote's 
consent.  After  she  had  gained  it,  Lady  Stella  went  on 
to  the  seat  under  the  elm  tree  where  Dick  and  his 
companion  were  still  sitting. 


"HE   WOULD  LOVE  AND  SHE   WOULD  NOT"    123 

"  I  am  going  home,"  she  said,  "  so  I  shall  say  good- 
bye. Mabel  Kingscote  is  going  with  me.  When  can 
you  all  come  to  dine  at  the  Towers  ?  Have  you  made 
many  engagements  ?  No  ?  Could  you  come  to-morrow 
night,  then  ? " 

"  I  think  we  shall  be  delighted,"  said  Dick.  "  May 
I  make  the  engagement,  Miss  Semple  ?  Can't  we  go 
and  speak  to  little  Mabel  before  she  goes,  Lady  Stella  ? 
I  want  Miss  Semple  to  meet  her  particularly." 

Lady  Stella  hesitated.  "Better  not,"  she  said. 
"  We  should  be  in  disgrace  with  all  those  boys  if  they 
saw  us  leaving  before  the  conclusion  of  the  match. 
We  want  to  steal  away  quietly.  There  will  be  plenty 
of  opportunities.  Perhaps  Mabel  may  be  with  us 
to-morrow  night." 

"  Oh,  very  well  then,"  said  Dick.  "  It  seems  a 
little  hard  on  Nigel.  I  see  he's  been  running  up  the 
score.  Greenheys  would  be  nowhere  without  him.  I 
dare  say  he  wouldn't  play  half  as  well  if  he  didn't  feel 
that  Miss  Kingscote  was  looking  on." 

"  Perhaps  he  won't  discover,"  said  Lady  Stella ; 
"at  least,  till  the  match  is  over.  He  is  very  short- 
sighted, you  know." 

"  Poor  chap !  "  said  Dick,  sympathetic  to  another 
lover. 

Lady  Stella  and  Mabel  went  away  quietly.  As 
there  was  tremendous  excitement  at  the  moment  over 


124  DICK  PENTBEATH 

the  score  Mr.  Nigel  was  making,  it  was  a  propitious 
moment  for  their  departure. 

They  went  down  through  the  village,  where  the 
women  were  standing  in  their  doorways  looking  towards 
the  cricket-ground,  and  Mr.  Settle,  the  landlord  of 
The  Grey  Goose,  stood  under  a  chestnut  tree  with 
Mr.  Nedley,  the  butcher,  talking  over  the  cricketing 
averages  and  the  test  match,  while  the  girls  played 
rounders  all  to  themselves  on  another  part  of  the 
Green.  The  children  paused  from  their  games  to 
put  their  fingers  in  their  mouths  and  stare  shyly  at 
Lady  Stella. 

So  long  as  they  were  under  observation  Mabel 
smiled  and  greeted  one  and  another  and  spoke  to  the 
children  with  a  courage  which  proved  her  worthy  of 
her  descent  from  a  long  line  of  famous  soldiers.  But 
once  they  had  crossed  the  village  green  and  were 
between  the  Manor  House  woods  on  one  side  and 
fields  steeply  rising  towards  the  hills  on  the  other,  the 
veil  dropped  from  the  young  face. 

"Was  that  Miss  Semple,  Lady  Stella?"  she  asked; 
and  the  gloom  on  her  face  was  like  the  sudden  darken- 
ing, beneath  the  hills  that  shut  out  the  western  sky, 
of  the  evening  landscape. 

"  Yes,  that  was  Miss  Semple,"  Lady  Stella  answered 
gently.  "  How  did  you  know,  Mab  ? " 

"  Every  one  knows ;  even  the  boys.    They  can't  get 


"HE  WOULD  LOVE  AND  SHE  WOULD  NOT"   125 

over  it.  They  thought — he — wouldn't  be  such  a  jolly 
fool." 

Mabel  repeated  this  opinion  without  any  change  of 
her  forlorn  face. 

"She  is  very  beautiful,  isn't  she?"  she  said. 
"  Lovely  hair  and  complexion,  and  so  graceful.  I  am 
sure  her  eyes  are  lovely,  too,  although  I  couldn't  see 
them." 

"  Why,  Mab  !     You  only  looked  our  way  once." 

"He  seems  infatuated — infatuated,"  Mabel  went 
on  drearily.  "  I  never  would  have  believed  it  of  him 
— like  the  boys.  To  be  sure,  she  is  lovely — like  a 
young  angel,  a  young  archangel,  perhaps,  if  one  could 
imagine  a  woman  being  an  archangel  Not  like— like 
people  with  snub  noses  and  no  complexions  at  all,  all 
just  the  same  colour — hair,  and  eyes,  and  complexion, 
and  all.  It's  so  hideous  to  be  all  the  same  colour! 
And  then  to  be  small  and  insignificant.  Even  papa, 
who  adores  me,  could  never  find  any  name  for  me  but 
his  little  brown  mouse.  I  wonder,  Lady  Stella,  why 
God  ever  made  girls  plain." 

"  It  is  sad  for  the  plain  girls,  Mab ;  but  you  are  not 
among  them." 

"It  doesn't  matter.  Ever  since  I  thought  about 
him  I  never  could  bear  to  look  at  myself  in  the  glass. 
'  Oh,  you  hideous  thing ! '  I  have  said,  when  I  have 
caught  sight  of  myself  by  accident.  However,  it 


126  DICK  PENTREATH 

doesn't  matter.  Even  if  I  had  been  pretty,  I  don't 
suppose  he  would  have  thought  of  me,  once  she  came." 

"  He  thinks  of  no  one  but  her,"  Lady  Stella  said, 
with  a  resolute  air,  as  though  she  were  hard  with  her- 
self as  well  as  with  poor  little  Mab,  who  had  to  be 
hurt  so  that  she  should  be  healed.  "It  seems  to  be 
destiny,  fate,  the  will  of  God.  I  can  only  say  that 
she  seems,  so  far  as  one  can  see,  as  worthy  as  mortal 
woman  may  be  of  being  so  much  loved.  Dear  little 
Mab,  he  wanted  you  to  come  and  speak  to  her ;  he  is 
so  anxious  you  should  be  friends,  but  I  thought  it 
might  have  been  an  ordeal  just  then." 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  should  be  such  an  angel  to 
me,"  said  Mabel,  unhappily. 

"But  you  must  see  her;  you  must  get  used  to 
seeing  them  together.  He  is  so  immensely  in  love 
with  her  that  it  is,  it  must  be,  impossible  to  go  on 
thinking  of  him  in  that  way.  He  belongs  to  her  so 
utterly.  And  there  are  other  people  who  care.  Mab, 
couldn't  you  think  of  the  one  who  cares  ? " 

Mr.  Nigel  was  a  great  favourite  of  Lady  Stella,  but 
for  once  her  instincts  had  been  at  fault. 

"  Oh,  that  little  man ! "  said  Mabel,  indifferently. 
"  I  don't  know  why  he  should  be  so  stupid  as  to  care. 
That  was  one  reason  why  I  wanted  to  get  away.  He 
always — shows  it.  I  can't  tell  you  how  I — detest  it." 
Mabel's  cheeks  were  suddenly  aflame.  "And  if  he 


"HE  WOULD  LOVE  AND  SHE  WOULD  NOT"   127 

should  show  it  before — Mr.  Pentreath  and — Miss 
Semple,  I  couldn't  have  endured  it" 

"  I  know,"  said  Lady  Stella. 

"  You  always  do  know,"  said  Mabel,  with  an  out- 
burst of  gratitude.  "  It  was  because  you  knew  that — 
that  I  told  you  how  silly  I  was.  No  one  else  in  the 
whole  world  suspects.  What  should  I  do  if  any  one 
did  ?  Now,  I  am  not  going  to  talk  about  it  any  more. 
I  will  meet  Miss  Semple  whenever  you  like,  dear  Lady 
Stella.  I  think  I  can — like  her  very  much.  We  will 
never  say  anything  about  it  again.  Oh,  how  grateful  I 
am  that  no  one  knows  but  you !  Only  in  my  prayers, 
and  to  you,  have  I  ever  said  anything  about  him.  And 
he  never  guessed." 

"  To  be  sure,  he  never  guessed.  It  is  the  last  thing 
he  would  have  guessed.  Your  secret  was  always  safe 
enough  from  him,  poor  child.  I  am  so  glad  you  are  going 
to  be  brave  about  it.  Those  things  don't  go  on  hurting, 
Mab  dear,  when — we  have  no  right." 

She  looked  down  at  the  girl's  unbelieving  face. 
Then  she  stopped  to  listen. 

"  I  believe  that  is  the  Mercedes  coming,"  she  said. 
"  Would  you  like  to  drive  home  in  her,  Mab,  or  to  walk 
the  rest  of  the  way  ? " 

"  I  don't  look  woebegone  ?  " 

Lady  Stella  drew  her  on  to  the  grass  plot  at  the 
side  of  the  road.  There  was  no  one  in  sight.  She  took 


128  DICK  PENTREATH 

the  girl's  irregular  brown  face  between  her  hands  and 
looked  down  into  it. 

"No  one  would  notice,"  she  said,  and  kissed  Mab 
tenderly.  "You  are  a  brave  child,"  she  went  on, 
"  and,  believe  me,  it  will  only  hurt  for  a  little  while. 
You  will  be  very  happy  presently,  and  wonder  at  your 
own  unhappiness  now.  Our  prayers  don't  go  astray, 
little  Mab ;  only  our  Father  answers  them  as  He  knows 
best." 

With  a  sudden  rush  and  swish  the  Mercedes  came 
round  the  bend  of  the  road.  The  car  had  four  occu- 
pants, one  added  since  it  had  gone  out  with  the  Duke 
and  Mr.  Goldhawk  and  the  chauffeur. 

"I  wonder  whom  Arthur  has  picked  up,"  Lady 
Stella  said,  shading  her  eyes  with  her  hands  to  look. 
"  They  are  all  so  dusty !  The  dust  makes  one  man 
much  the  same  as  another.  Ah,  I  see,  it  is  Mr.  Stiles. 
You  know  him,  Mab  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  met  him,"  Mabel  answered  indiffer- 
ently. 

The  car  drew  up  as  it  came  alongside  them. 

"  We  are  not  fit  for  the  society  of  ladies,"  said  the 
Duke.  "The  dust  is  in  drifts  along  the  road.  Will 
you  and  Miss  Kingscote  come  in,  Stella,  or  will  you 
walk?" 

"  I  think  as  we  are  so  near  home  we  will  walk," 
Lady  Stella  answered. 


"HE  WOULD  LOVE  AND  SHE  WOULD  NOT"  jl 2 9 

As  the  car  dashed  on,  she  said :  "  It  would  have 
been  a  thousand  pities  to  have  got  in ;  the  car  was  so 
dusty.  And  you  look  so  fresh,  Mab,  with  those  pink 
daisies  in  your  hat,  and  your  pink  frock." 

« I  don't  feel  at  all  fresh,"  said  Mab.  "  By  the  way, 
Charlie  said  he  would  bring  over  my  evening  frock  on 
his  bicycle.  There  will  be  plenty  of  time.  Mother 
will  see  that  he  has  everything  all  right." 

"There  will  be  plenty  of  time,"  Lady  Stella  said. 
"  I  suppose  Mr.  Stiles  has  come  to  stay  for  a  few  days. 
There  was  a  portmanteau  in  the  car.  Would  you  like 
to  stay  on  for  a  few  days,  Mab  ?  We  could  ask  Arthur 
to  give  us  a  run  down  to  the  sea  in  the  Mercedes.  We 
might  lunch  at  Littlehampton  or  Bognor  one  day  and  be 
back  in  time  for  our  dinner.  What  do  you  say  ? " 

"  I  should  love  anything  that  would  keep  me  with 
you,  Lady  Stella.  I  don't  want  mother  to  suspect. 
She  loves  us  so  much,  that  she  notices  everything; 
and  I  don't  like  to  keep  putting  it  down  to  headache." 

"  Very  well,  then,  you  must  stay.  And  perhaps  when 
we  go  to  Norway,  in  July,  your  mother  would  let  you 
come  with  us.  I  shall  bring  you  back  as  happy  as 
possible.  I  wonder  if  Charlie  will  think  of  bringing 
your  banjo." 

"  If  not,  and  if  you  would  like  me  to  sing,  he  can  go 
back  for  it.  It  will  not  take  him  very  long.  It  would 
be  heavenly  to  go  away  with  you." 

K 


130  DICK   PENTREATH 

"  It  would  give  us  all  pleasure  to  hear  you  sing." 

Mabel  took  Lady  Stella's  hand  gratefully  and 
kissed  it. 

"  I  am  so  glad  if  I  can  give  you  pleasure,"  she  said. 
"  I  never  could  say  what  you  are  to  me.  How  is  it 
that  you  are  so  good  to  every  one  ? " 

"  Am  I  good  to  every  one  ? " 

"  We  all  love  you  so  tnuch.  There  is — Mr.  Pent- 
reath.  He  thinks  there  is  no  one  in  the  world  like 
you." 

"  And  Sancho,"  Lady  Stella  said,  with  a  smile  that 
had  a  little  quiver  of  her  face.  "  I  confess  that  I  come 
second  with  Sancho  as  well  as  with  his  master.  And, 
little  Mab,  it  is  a  very  good  thing  to  come  second  with 
one's  friends." 

"  I  should  want  to  be  first,"  said  Mabel ;  "  but  I 
am  not  first  with  any  one  except  papa.  I  mean,  of 
course,  I  am  first  after  Mother.  No ;  I  suppose  I  am 
not  really  first  with  any  one,  excepting  Eover." 

She  added  her  dog  as  an  afterthought  and  Lady 
Stella  smiled  down  at  the  childish  face. 

"  To  be  first  with  a  dog  like  Rover,  and  second  with 
a  man  like  Captain  Kingscote,  is,  I  should  think, 
enough  for  eighteen-years-old,  little  Mab,"  she  said 
kindly. 


CHAPTEE  XI 

"BROWN  is  MY  LOVE" 

AT  dinner  Mabel  withdrew  herself  shyly  from  the  con- 
versation, and  listened  to  what  the  others  were  saying. 
It  was  uncommonly  well  worth  listening  to.  It  was 
not  often  that  the  County  found  at  its  dinner-tables 
men  who  could  talk  of  such  interesting  things  as  Mr 
Goldhawk  and  Mr.  Harold  Stiles.  Usually  the  County 
talked  of  bucolic  things — of  farming,  of  shorthorns  and 
agricultural  shows,  of  shooting  and  hunting.  If  there 
was  a  parson  present,  Church  matters  might  come  in  for 
their  share  of  attention.  The  ladies,  unless  they  hunted, 
found  little  to  entertain  them.  When  they  retired  to  the 
drawing-room,  they  talked  parochial  matters,  domestic 
matters,  like  ladies  less  high-placed ;  or  they  talked  of 
books  with  languid  interest.  They  liked  well-bred 
books  like  Mr.  W.  E.  Norris's ;  Mrs.  Oliphant  was  not 
yet  old-fashioned  amongst  them ;  and  they  expected 
their  daughters  to  be  satisfied  with  Miss  Yonge.  They 
thought  of  Miss  Corelli  as  a  brilliant  but  heterodox 
person. 

131 


132  DICK  PENTREATH 

Mab  had  been  taken  out  to  dinner  occasionally  of 
late.  Eighteen  is  apt  to  be  pushed  forward  unduly  if 
there  is  a  long  tail  of  young  sisters  behind.  She  could 
have  forecasted  almost  every  word  that  would  be  spoken 
at  the  ordinary  dinner-party.  If  Dick  Pentreath  were 
not  there,  nor  Lady  Stella  to  send  her  kind,  encouraging 
glances,  the  dinners  were  apt  to  be  dull  functions  for 
eighteen-years-old. 

But  this  dinner-table  was  another  matter.  To  be 
sure,  the  Duke,  who  was  a  red-haired,  ruddy-faced, 
blue-eyed  young  man,  the  very  antithesis  of  his  sister, 
addressed  himself  chiefly  to  his  dinner,  and  was,  if  not 
bored,  at  least  absent-minded.  His  new  car  was  very 
much  in  his  thoughts.  He  was  imagining  what  could 
be  done  with  her  if  there  was  a  clear  highway  without 
policemen,  or  children,  or  cattle,  or  vehicles  of  any 
other  sort,  or  pedestrians,  or  towns,  or  villages. 

If  the  County  ever  talked  of  events  of  European 
importance,  it  was  perfunctorily  and  with  an  absence 
of  even  newspaper  knowledge.  Now  the  conversation 
between  the  two  visitors  seemed  to  be  all  of  important 
things.  It  was  weighty,  and  yet  it  was  light,  as  became 
dinner-table  talk.  Art,  literature,  politics,  philanthropy, 
men  and  manners,  war  and  rumours  of  war,  were 
touched  upon  easily,  but  with  knowledge.  There  was 
humour,  there  was  wit,  there  was  exceptional  intimacy 
with  the  things  they  talked  of.  The  names  that  cropped 


"BROWN   IS   MY   LOVE"  133 

up  in  the  conversation  made  little  Mab  round-eyed  with 
wonder  and  admiration.  There  was  that  in  common 
between  her  and  the  Duke  of  Lydford  that  neither 
contributed  anything  to  the  conversation.  But  Mab 
listened  with  all  her  ears,  forgetting  for  the  moment 
that  she  was  broken-hearted. 

Now  and  again  she  glanced  at  Lady  Stella,  who 
had  the  eager  intelligence  of  listening  which  was 
just  the  thing  to  keep  such  a  conversation  going.  If 
it  had  not  been  for  her  and  her  questions  and  com- 
ments it  would  have  become  a  monologue.  Mr.  Gold- 
hawk,  usually  a  silent  person,  came  out  of  his  shell  to 
answer  Lady  Stella. 

"  Ah,"  said  Mab  to  herself  wisely,  "  he  has  nothing 
to  say  to  us  as  a  rule,  only  to  Lady  Stella.  It  is  she 
that  brings  him.  And  now  there  is  Mr.  Stiles  for  him 
to  talk  to." 

She  had  no  idea  at  all  that  she  herself  might  be  an 
inspiration  to  one  of  the  talkers.  She  was  good  to 
look  at  in  her  evening  dress  of  brown  net,  with  little 
pink  roses  making  sleeves  to  the  low  bodice,  and  a 
little  wreath  of  the  same  roses  in  her  bronze  head. 
Her  shoulders  had  the  roundness  of  youth,  and  if  not 
fair  with  the  milkiness  of  fair  skin,  they  were  smooth 
and  pale. 

But  it  was  not  so  much  the  charm  of  youth  in  the 
girl  that  brought  Harold  Stiles's  eyes  to  look  at  her 


134  DICK  PENTREATH 

again  and  again.  It  was  the  eager  interest  in  the 
vivacious,  irregular  face.  With  her  lips  a  little  apart, 
her  bright  eyes  glancing  from  one  to  the  other,  she 
drank  in  every  word  of  the  conversation.  The  young 
man  was  quite  accustomed  to  being  listened  to  by  fair 
and  distinguished  and  brilliant  listeners.  Even  such 
a  one  as  Mr.  Goldhawk,  for  whom  he  had  an  immense 
admiration  while  their  opinions  were  as  different  as 
possible,  he  met  on  almost  equal  ground.  The  elder 
man  had  the  advantage  of  him  in  years  and  in  an  ex- 
perience such  as  falls  to  only  born  leaders  of  men.  But 
in  the  matter  of  intellect  the  younger  man  held  his 
own. 

Lady  Stella  noticed  the  glances  he  sent  the  way 
of  the  unconscious  Mab  and  had  misgivings.  She  had 
heard  Mrs.  Stiles  lament  her  Harold's  coldness.  He 
was  twenty-eight,  and  there  had  never  been  a  suggestion 
of  his  giving  her  a  daughter.  Mrs.  Stiles  was  in- 
ordinately eager  for  grandchildren,  as  she  had  confided 
to  the  ear  of  Lady  Stella,  who  liked  her.  When  Lady 
Stella  liked  any  one,  it  was  quite  possible  for  them  to 
forget  that  she  was  a  great  lady  and  very  unapproach- 
able to  those  she  did  not  like. 

"  My  dear,"  Mrs.  Stiles  had  said,  "  I  live  in  dread 
of  his  bringing  me  home  an  oddity,  one  of  those 
young  women  who  appear  on  platforms,  with  short 
hair  and  spectacles,  who  dresses  as  nearly  like  a  man 


"BROWN   IS   MY   LOVE"  135 

as  possible.  It  would  be  a  disappointment,  although 
I  should  try  to  bear  it.  I  should  like  a  nice  soft,  gentle 
girl,  as  unlike  myself  as  anything  could  be.  I'm  just 
longing  to  spoil  a  little  daughter." 

When  they  were  in  the  drawing-room  awaiting  the 
appearance  of  the  men,  Lady  Stella,  standing  with  one 
foot  on  the  fender,  glanced  down  at  Mabel  who  sat 
with  her  banjo  on  her  knee,  tightening  the  strings. 
She  had  crossed  one  foot  over  the  other  boyishly,  and 
for  the  moment  apparently  thought  of  nothing  but  the 
thing  she  was  doing.  There  was  a  glimpse  of  a  pink 
petticoat  and  of  bronze  shoes  with  roses  for  rosettes. 
The  white  arms  and  little  brown  hands  on  the  strings — 
one  could  see  the  line  of  the  sleeve  where  the  sunburn 
came — the  head  as  glancing  and  alert  as  a  bird's,  were 
charming.  How  Mrs.  Stiles  would  pet  and  spoil  Mabel ! 
What  a  brilliant  destiny!  And  what  it  would  mean 
to  the  uncountable  young  Kingscotes  in  the  little  red 
house!  For  a  moment  a  feminine  desire  for  match- 
making sprang  to  life  in  Lady  Stella's  breast.  Then 
'  she  remembered  Mr.  Nigel  and  her  heart  smote  her. 

They  were  not  long  left  to  each  other's  society. 
Mr.  Goldhawk  and  Mr.  Stiles  came  upstairs,  still 
arguing  with  high  good  humour.  The  Duke  followed 
in  silence.  As  he  came  in  he  glanced  at  Mabel, 
whose  banjo,  with  its  pink  ribbons,  had  just  been 
laid  down. 


136  DICK  PENTREATH 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  you  are  going  to  sing  to  us,  Miss 
Kingscote.  I  am  so  glad.  Those  two  fellows  have 
nearly  talked  me  to  death,  and  their  talk  didn't  lead 
anywhere  that  I  could  see.  I  was  afraid  it  was  going 
to  go  on  upstairs  as  well.  Now,  they  can't  talk  while 
you  sing,  can  they  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Mabel,  merrily,  "  that  is  one  of  the 
advantages  of  music." 

Then  she  blushed  deeply,  with  a  feeling  that  the 
speech  sounded  pert. 

"  I  wish  I'd  asked  Dick  Pentreath,  or  Egerton,  or 
Casaubon,  or  some  one  who  would  have  talked  about 
something  worth  listening  to,"  the  Duke  went  on,  in 
half-real,  half-pretended  chagrin. 

"  Poor  fellow  1 "  said  Mr.  Goldhawk,  with  a  hand 
on  the  Duke's  shoulder.  "  It  was  really  Stiles.  Those 
young  men  are  so  doctrinaire.  I  was  trying  to  per- 
suade him  to  see  imperially,  but  the  East  End  of 
London  has  got  into  his  eye." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  the  Duke,  easily ;  "  only,  don't 
do  it  again.  I  don't  know  how  you  digest  your  dinners, 
talking  of  such  things.  Why  not  talk  of  pleasant 
things  ?  I  hear  the  fever's  broken  out  at  Wood  Hatch, 
Stella.  There  have  been  three  deaths  during  the 
week.  There's  been  a  suicide  at  Greeuheys:  Long, 
the  carpenter;  he  hung  himself  in  his  wood-house. 
I  hear  that  they  have  foot-rot  among  the  sheep  at 


"BROWN  IS  MY  LOVE"  137 

Campion  Farm;  I  hope  it  won't  cross  over  to  my 
land." 

"  Dear  me !  "  said  Lady  Stella,  aghast  at  this  list  of 
calamities.  "  Poor  Mrs.  Long  I  Why  didn't  you  tell 
me  before?  And  Wood  Hatch,  too.  They  are  the 
worst  cottages  in  the  county.  I  really  think  that 
public  opinion  ought  to  make  Mr.  Leslie  do  his  duty 
with  regard  to  them." 

"  I  tried  to  tell  you,"  said  the  Duke,  kicking  a  log 
into  the  fire,  "  but  these  fellows  wouldn't  let  me.  Some 
people  have  queer  ideas  about  dinner-table  talk." 

"  I'm  going  to  stand  against  Leslie  at  the  General 
Election,"  said  Harold  Stiles,  quietly. 

"  Stand  against  Leslie  1  My  dear  man,  what  are 
you  talking  about  ? "  cried  the  Duke.  "  Why,  you 
wouldn't  have  a  chance.  There  has  always  been  a 
Leslie  representing  the  county.  The  last  man  the 
Kadicals  ran  made  a  contemptible  show.  You'd  be 
mad  to  do  it,  unless  you  ran  as  a  Conservative ;  and 
even  then " 

"  I  shall  run  as  a  Radical,"  said  young  Stiles, 
calmly.  "  I  am  going  to  nurse  the  constituency ;  you 
will  see.  I  shall  make  a  better  show  than  the  last 
man.  Who  knows  but  that,  when  the  time  comes,  you 
yourself  will  nominate  me ! — you  as  proposer,  Ludlow 
as  seconder,  on  one  paper.  That  would  go  a  long  way 
towards  winning  me  the  seat." 


138  DICK  PENTBBATH 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  the  Duke.  "  But  I'm  bound  to 
Leslie;  we've  always  nominated  a  Leslie  for  genera- 
tions back.  A  Eadical,  too  !  Bless  my  soul,  I  couldn't 
nominate  a  Eadical." 

"  The  Government  will  stay  in  for  probably  three 
years  more,"  said  Harold  Stiles,  as  though  talking  to 
himself.  "  A  good  deal  of  water  runs  under  the  bridges 
in  three  years.  You  must  persuade  him,  Lady  Stella. 
Anyhow,  Mr.  Leslie  must  go.  It  is  a  disgrace  to  have 
the  owner  of  Wood  Hatch  representing  the  county. 
To  be  sure,  I'm  a  Eadical ;  it  is  as  far  as  it  is  possible 
to  get  in  the  way  of  a  party ;  but  I  am  much  more 
than  Radical.  In  fact,  I  am  prepared  to  go  almost 
any  length." 

"  I  dare  say,  young  man,"  said  the  Duke,  grimly, 
"  but  you're  not  going  to  take  me  along  with  you." 

"Mr.  Leslie  ought  to  be  opposed,"  said  Lady  Stella, 
quietly.  "  Those  deaths  in  Wood  Hatch  are  at  his  door." 

"  Bless  mef  Stella,"  her  brother  said  irritably, 
"  you're  not  going  to  tell  me  that  I  am  to  support  a 
Radical." 

"I  haven't  got  so  far  as  that,"  Lady  Stella  said, 
smiling  at  Harold  Stiles. 

A  footman  came  in  with  the  tea,  and  the  discussion 
was  interrupted.  After  tea  had  been  handed  round, 
and  the  cups  put  down  again,  Harold  Stiles  picked  up 
the  neglected  banjo  and  handed  it  to  its  owner. 


"BROWN  IS   MY  LOVE"  139 

"  You  were  going  to  sing  for  us  ? "  he  said,  sitting 
down  on  the  sofa  beside  Mabel  Kingscote. 

"  If  you  like,"  she  replied,  with  an  air  of  timid 
appeal  to  the  fireside  group. 

"  Please  do,"  said  the  Duke,  "  and  let  us  forget  the 
shadow  of  a  contested  election.  If  you're  going  to 
stand,  really,  Stiles,  and  aren't  jesting,  we'll  have  to 
get  a  better  man  than  old  Leslie  to  beat  you." 

"In  that  case  I  shan't  mind  being  beaten,"  said 
the  other. 

Mabel  took  the  banjo  in  her  hands.  She  put  one 
little  foot  on  the  footstool  which  Harold  Stiles  had 
placed  for  it.  She  swept  a  tinkling  chord  or  two  before 
she  began  to  sing.  The  song  ought  to  have  been  some- 
thing merry,  but  it  was  sad. 

"  'Twas  pretty  to  be  in  Ballinderry. 
'Twas  pretty  to  be  in  Aghalee  ; 
'Twas  prettier  to  be  in  little  Ram's  Island, 
Trysting  under  the  ivy  tree. 
Ochone,  ochone. 

'Twas  pretty  to  be  in  little  Rani's  Island, 
All  alone  with  Phelimy  Hyland ; 
And  still  he'd  court  me  and  I'd  be  coy,. 
But  at  heart  I  loved  him,  my  handsome  boy. 
Ochone,  ochone." 

Her  voice  was  sweet  and  true  as  a  robin's  in 
winter.  It  had  no  great  volume;  it  was,  indeed,  as 
yet  a  little  thin  and  immature,  but  it  suited  with  the 
simple  words  and  the  tinkling  melody.  Nothing  could 


140  DICK   PENTREATH 

be  prettier  than  the  young  girl's  attitude  as  she  sat 
looking  down  at  her  banjo.  It  seemed  to  fascinate  one 
of  the  observers. 

«"Fm  going,'  he  said, '  from  Ballinderry, 

Out  and  over  the  cruel  sea, 
And  if  in  your  heart  you  love  me,  Mary, 

Open  your  arms  at  last  to  me.'  , 

Ochone!  ochone! 

I  opened  my  arms,  how  well  he  knew  me  ; 
I  opened  my  arms  and  took  him  to  me. 
And  there  in  the  gloom  of  the  groaning  mast 
We  kissed  our  first  and  we  kissed  our  last. 
Ochone !  ochone  t " 

It  was  the  voice  of  a  sadder  country  than  this  one, 
golden  and  prosperous ;  and  when  the  singer  had  ceased, 
her  audience  was  silent,  too  touched  to  utter  the  con- 
ventional thanks.  Before  they  could  speak,  her  fingers 
had  swept  the  chords  again,  and  she  was  singing  a  gay 
little  French  chanson,  to  be  succeeded  by  another,  and 
yet  another,  as  they  pressed  for  more. 

At  last,  Lady  Stella  took  the  banjo  from  the  girl's 
hands. 

"You  have  done  enough  for  our  pleasure,  Mab," 
she  said;  "and  now  I  think  we  will  adjourn  to  the 
billiard-room,  for  I  know  Arthur  is  longing  for  a 
game.  It  is  only  your  songs  have  kept  him  satisfied 
so  long." 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  music,"  said  the  Duke, 
heartily,  "  but  I  know  Miss  Kingscote's  singing  gives 


"BKOWN  IS  MY  LOVE"  141 

me  more  pleasure  than  any  music  I  hear.  I  shall 
never  forget " — he  turned  to  Mr.  Goldhawk,  who  was  a 
virtuoso  in  everything  concerning  music — "  one  night 
when  Stella  took  me  to  a  concert  in  London.  The  Phil 
— Philharmonic,  was  it,  Stella?  I  never  heard  such 
things;  neither  sense  nor  meaning  in  them.  You 
never  caught  me  there  again,  Stella.  Yet  that  wasn't 
so  bad  as  when  I  was  in  Germany,  and  some  fellows 
took  me  to  a  thing  called  Gottdammerung.  I  thought 
I  was  in  a  lunatic  asylum.  Give  me  'My  Mother 
bids  me  bind  my  Hair/  or  '  Where  the  Bee  sucks,'  or 
'  The  Lark,'  or  '  Come  live  with  me  and  be  my  Love.' 
I  like  good  English  music." 

"  And  very  good  music  it  is,"  said  Otto  Goldhawk, 
seriously. 

Lady  Stella  took  a  very  feminine  little  work-basket 
from  a  side  table  and,  putting  her  hand  through  Mabel's 
arm,  led  the  way  to  the  billiard-room. 

It  was  a  delightful  apartment,  with  a  great  hooded 
ingle-nook,  big  enough  to  accommodate  a  small  party 
of  itself.  Quiet  evenings  at  the  Towers  generally 
finished  up  in  the  billiard-room,  and  Lady  Stella  had 
her  special  corner  of  the  settle  near  the  fire,  with  a 
little  globe  of  electric  light  which  she  could  turn  on 
when  she  was  so  minded. 

She  took  her  usual  seat,  and  Mr.  Goldhawk  seated 
himself  in  one  of  the  many  low  chairs  near  her, 


142  DICK   PENTREATH 

watching  her  with  interest  as  she  drew  a  piece  of  fine 
needlework  from  her  basket  and  threaded  her  needle. 

The  Duke  had  challenged  Mr.  Stiles  to  a  game  of  a 
hundred  up.  Mab  had  volunteered  to  mark — she  was 
learned  in  all  such  matters,  as  the  sister  of  many 
brothers;  the  little  red-gabled  house  had  somehow 
found  room  for  a  miniature  billiard-table,  despite  the 
pressure  on  its  space. 

"  Clever  fellow,  Stiles,"  Mr.  Goldhawk  said. 

"  Very  clever,  and  good,  I  think,"  said  Lady  Stella, 
beginning  her  seam. 

"  Little  Miss  Kingscote  has  made  a  conquest." 

She  looked  at  him  in  a  startled  way.  Somehow  or 
other  she  had  arrived  at  an  intimacy  with  Mr.  Gold- 
hawk.  If  he  had  pretensions,  as  people  supposed,  he 
had  never  yet  urged  them,  nor  seemed  to  ask  for  more 
than  friendship  ;  and  although  Lady  Stella  would  have 
said  that  she  could  not  have  permitted  the  pretensions, 
she  was,  nevertheless,  pleased  and  a  little  flattered  at 
being  the  great  man's  friend.  She  was  feminine  enough 
to  appreciate  his  bigness ;  and  as  a  friend,  he  was  per- 
fection. So  she  spoke  to  him  now  as  she  would  have 
spoken  to  nobody  else. 

"  That  complicates  matters,"  she  said,  dropping  her 
seam  into  her  lap.  ' 

"In  what  way?" 

"  Mr.  Nigel  is  in  love  with  Mabel." 


"BROWN  IS  MY  LOVE"  143 

"  The  little  parson  ?  He  would  not  have  a  chance 
where  Stiles  was  against  him.  Is  she  in  love  with 
him?" 

"  If  she  was  wild  horses  wouldn't  draw  it  from  me. 
But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  she  isn't." 

"  And  you  are  his  friend  ? " 

"  I  am  his  friend.  He  has  a  hundred  and  fifty  a 
year,  and  a  mother  and  a  large  family  of  sisters  and 
brothers,  and  they  are  as  poor  as  church  mice.  To 
be  sure,  we  could  present  him  to  a  living.  On 
the  other  hand,  you  know  about  the  Kingscotes.  If 
Mabel  were  to  marry  a  man  like  Mr.  Stiles,  immensely 
rich  and,  I've  no  doubt,  generous,  it  would  mean — 
everything  to  her  family." 

"  I  don't  believe  in  people  being  sacrificed  to  their 
families.  Still — she  won't  look  at  the  little  parson 
since  Stiles  is  in  love  with  her.  I'm  sorry  for  the  little 
chap.  But  since  she  is  not  in  love  with  him,  and 
probably  never  would  be — why,  our  clever  friend's 
way  is  clear." 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  Lady  Stella,  beginning  her  seam 
in  earnest.  "And,  after  all,  our  Yea  or  Nay  is  not 
asked  for." 

"  Let  Fate  and  the  young  people  settle  it  between 
them,"  said  Mr.  Goldhawk,  with  a  tender  expression  in 
his  fine  eyes  as  they  watched  Lady  Stella. 


CHAPTER  XII 

•'LOVE  THAT  HATH  US  IN   HIS  NET " 

EVERY  one  was  willing  to  help  Dick  to  entertain  his 
friends,  and  invitations  of  all  sorts  rained  upon  them  in 
the  weeks  following  Easter. 

For  a  man  so  tremendously  in  love,  he  bore  himself 
with  commendable  discretion.  To  be  sure,  everybody 
knew  his  state ;  his  worship  of  his  young  divinity  was 
apparent  to  the  least  observant ;  but,  granting  so  much, 
he  made  her  as  little  conspicuous  as  possible.  Dorothea 
had  frightened  him  a  little  by  the  maidenly  coldness 
which  had  been  a  check  to  him  in  moments  when  his 
ardour  had  nearly  run  away  with  him, 

V  V 

"  She  was  kinder  at  first,"  he  said  to  Lady  Stella. 
"  Is  it  possible  she  could  dislike  me  for  giving  her  so 
much  love  ? " 

For  a  moment  he  looked  pale. 

"She  would  be  kinder,"  said  Lady  Stella,  "if  she 
liked  you  less." 

He  looked  an  immense  relief. 

144 


"LOVE  THAT  HATH  US  IN  HIS  NET"   145 

"I  don't  profess  to  understand  women,"  he  said. 
"  I  have  never  known  one  intimately,  except  you, 
Stella ;  and  you  are  as  transparent  as  clear  water.  I 
have  always  known  what  was  in  your  mind." 

"  Have  you,  Dick  ? "  she  asked,  smiling  kindly  at 
him.  "  And  I  have  known  what  was  in  yours." 

"  I'm  not  very  complicated  to  my  friends.  I'm  not 
clever  enough.  I've  always  wondered  why  you  were  so 
good  to  such  a  stupid  fellow.  If  this  had  not  happened 
to  me,  I  should  be  feeling  horribly  pushed  out  by 
Goldhawk.  What  a  splendid  fellow !  Of  course,  it's 
quite  right ! " 

"  Hush,  Dick !  You  will  never  be  pushed  out  by 
Mr.  Goldhawk  or  any  one  else." 

He  misunderstood  her  and  looked  at  her  gratefully. 

"  I  suppose  there  are  women  who  keep  faithful  to 
their  friends  even  after  they  are  married.  Of  course,  it 
couldn't  be  the  same." 

"  No ;  it  couldn't  be  the  same.  But  there  is  nothing, 
Dick,  Between  Mr.  Goldhawk  and  me.  There  is  no 
question  of  my  marrying." 

"  But  there  will  be  ?  I  want  you  to  be  happy, 
Stella." 

"And  happiness  lies  in  only  one  direction,  you 
foolish  boy  ? " 

"  For  me,  yes.  There  could  be  no  happiness  with- 
out her.  And  you  think  her  coldness  means  nothing  ? " 

L 


146  DICK   PENTREATH 

"  Except  good  things.  She  is  very  young,  and  her 
soul  is  like  her  face.  Women  do  not  give  themselves 
without  a  struggle  even  to  the  men  they  love.  You 
must  not  frighten  her." 

Again  his  face  showed  an  uplifting. 

"  How  wise  you  are !  "  he  said  gratefully.  "  To  be 
sure,  I  wouldn't  have  it  otherwise." 

He  whistled  softly  to  himself  a  bar  of  a  song  he  had 
heard  Dorothea  sing. 

"  Oh,  have  you  seen  a  white  lily  grow, 
Before  the  sun  has  smutched  it  ?  " 

The  beautiful  weather  continued,  and  it  was  possible 
to  have  open-air  expeditions.  By  this  time  the  wild 
hyacinths  had  come  up  in  the  woods,  and  were  standing 
tiptoe,  looking  at  their  sister,  the  sky.  Apple  blossom 
had  appeared.  It  was  an  early  leafing,  and  the  trees 
were  going  a-Maying  in  suits  of  palest  green.  Every 
mossy  bank  was  pale  with  primroses,  and  in  the  lanes 
of  evenings  the  glow-worms  lit  up  their  lamps.  The 
nightingales  sang  all  night  in  the  coppices. 

At  night  Dorothea  used  to  kneel  by  her  open 
window  to  hear  them,  her  white  arms  on  the  sill,  her 
golden  hair  in  a  glory  about  her  shoulders.  She 
thought  it  ravishing  to  hear  them  answer  each  other 
from  hill  to  hill.  The  old  thorn  trees  on  the  lawn  had 
come  out  in  blossom,  and  the  night  was  intoxicating 
with  sweetness. 


"LOVE  THAT  HATH  US  IN   HIS  NET"      147 

The  town  had  never  made  her  its  own.  Because 
she  had  lived  in  town,  her  glimpses  of  the  country  were 
more  precious,  more  perdurable.  At  this  time  of  year, 
when  the  East  End  was  hard  to  bear  for  the  born 
country  lover,  she  had  had  her  thoughts  of  escape. 

"  Let  us  take  horse,  dear  heart,  take  horse  and  win, 
As  from  swart  August  to  the  green  lap  of  May, 
To  quietness  and  the  fresh  and  fragrant  breasts 
Of  the  still,  delicious  night,  not  yet  aware, 
In  any  of  her  innumerable  nests, 
Of  that  first  sudden  plash  of  dawn, 
Clear,  sapphirine,  luminous,  large." 

If  she  did  not  love  the  country  with  the  passion  and 
anguish  of  the  older  person  who  has  had  it  and  lost  it, 
yet  all  her  instincts  were  for  its  purity  and  sweetness 
and  calm.  Thosfe  who  sing  the  praises  of  London  for- 
get the  thousand  little  frets  and  jars  that  the  mere  dirt 
of  the  town  brings  with  it  to  the  sensitive.  And 
Dorothea's  fair  body  really  mirrored  her  soul.  She  was 
as  much  in  love  with  cleanliness  as  any  water-nymph. 

Their  visit  was  drawing  to  an  end.  Looking  from 
her  window,  Dorothea  imagined  the  sweet  changes  that 
the  procession  of  the  months  would  bring  to  Oakhurst. 
There  would  be  the  roses  presently,  and  the  dews  would 
be  heavy.  There  would  be  lilies,  and  hollyhocks, 
pinks,  stocks,  and  a  thousand  old-fashioned  flowers. 
There  would  be  fruiting-time,  and  there  would  be  the 
serene  splendour  of  autumn.  Winter  itself  would  be 


148  DICK  PENTREATH 

beautiful,  with  the  delicacy  of  the  stripped  woods 
against  red  dawns  and  stormy  sunsets,  and  the  sparkle 
and  glitter  of  the  frost. 

She  knew  quite  well  that  Oakhurst  was  hers  if  she 
would  only  stretch  out  her  hand  and  take  it.  She 
knew  that  others  knew  it  too,  her  father  and  mother 
among  them.  She  had  seen  a  half-expectation  in  her 
mother's  tranquil  eyes  when  they  had  been  alone,  but 
nothing  had  been  further  from  Dorothea's  thoughts 
than  to  make  any  confidences. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  her  mind  was  in  a  tumult.  Dick's 
sudden,  impetuous  surrender  of  himself  had  been  a 
little  too  overwhelming.  If  the  old  primitive  way  of  a 
man  with  a  maid  were  still  the  custom  Dorothea  would 
have  been  the  one  to  run  like  Atalanta.  Perhaps  she 
was  not  quite  ready  for  such  a  passionate  wooing. 
Her  soul  trembled  within  its  virgin  fastnesses.  He 
wanted  too  much  of  her.  The  reluctance  which  lies 
somewhere  at  the  back  of  even  a  passionate  woman's 
love  was  strong  in  Dorothea,  so  that  she  sometimes 
thought  it  would  be  a  relief  to  go  home,  to  be  with  her 
young  sisters,  whose  thoughts  were  yet  concerned  with 
the  things  of  childhood. 

There  was  full  moon  those  nights — a  white  moon 
that  bathed  the  world  in  splendour.  In  the  meadows 
beyond  the  lawn  the  corncrakes  had  begun  to  saw  at 
nights;  the  light  that  drenched  her  room  in  silver, 


"LOVE  THAT  HATH   US  IN  HIS  NET"      149 

and  perhaps  the  perturbation  of  her  heart,  kept  Doro- 
thea wakeful.  What  was  the  good  of  lying  down  and 
trying  to  sleep  when  sleep  would  not  come  ?  She  had 
been  patient,  imagining  sheep  jumping  over  a  hedge, 
counting  up  to  great  sums,  doing  all  manner  of  things 
which  she  had  heard  of  as  sleep-provoking,  but  since 
sleep  would  not  come,  it  was  easier  to  kneel  in  the 
moonlight  and  listen  to  the  song  of  the  nightingale. 

Then,  one  night,  something  white  stirred  in  the 
gloom  of  the  chestnut  tree  below  her  window.  She 
remembered  that  she  had  seen  that  white  thing  there 
before  and  had  taken  it  for  a  shaft  of  moonlight.  Dick, 
who  had  watched  her  for  many  nights,  had  become 
careless,  and  Sancho  had  grown  tired  of  sitting  there 
so  long.  A  field  mouse  had  passed  him,  close  to  his 
outstretched  paws,  and,  with  a  guilty  look  at  his 
master  in  the  shadow  of  the  tree,  he  had  followed 
on  the  track  of  the  mouse  in  a  somewhat  overdone 
stealthiness. 

Dorothea  strained  her  eyes  into  the  obscurity  of  the 
boughs.  She  saw  the  dog  steal  across  the  grass ;  then 
she  discerned  a  faint  point  of  fire  in  the  gloom.  It  was 
Dick's  cigarette ;  he  had  denied  himself  a  cigar  lest  she 
should  perceive  the  smell. 

She  withdrew  herself  from  the  window  in  an  immense 
hurry.  She  pulled  the  chintz  curtains  across  the  panes 
as  though  she  loved  the  dark.  She  stood  in  the  middle 


150  DICK   PENTBEATB 

of  the  room,  her  heart  beating  fast,  her  hands  clasped 
over  her  eyes  and  her  burning  cheeks. 

It  was  all  such  a  great  ado  about  nothing  as  young 
girls  will  make.  She  had  really  been  quite  decorously 
clad  in  her  pretty,  be-ribboned  dressing-gown  of  cream 
nun's  veiling.  What  if  her  hair  had  been  about  her 
shoulders  and  her  arms  bare  ?  What  if  she  had  talked 
to  the  moon  and  the  night  and  the  nightingales  half- 
aloud,  repeating  the  bits  and  scraps  of  poetry  with 
which  her  memory  was  filled  ? 

The  next  day,  when  the  Duke  took  them  far  afield 
for  a  drive  in  the  Mercedes,  while  Mr.  Goldhawk  drove 
the  lately  superseded  car  with  another  contingent  of 
passengers,  Dorothea  kept  close  to  her  mother's  side. 
Dick  might  gaze,  unhappy  and  imploring.  The  kind 
mother  might  look  the  invitation  which  her  daughter's 
averted  eyes  did  not  ratify.  Dorothea  was  not  to  be 
dislodged.  She  would  not  look  at  Dick,  but  she  was 
all  graciousness  to  poor  Mr.  Nigel,  who  stood  in  need 
of  consolation,  since  Mabel  Kingscote  had  been  seized 
upon  by  Mr.  Harold  Stiles  and  did  not  seem  unwilling. 
Dorothea  was  a  mixture  of  woman  and  child  as  yet. 
In  some  ways  mature  for  her  years  she  was  immature 
in  others.  Shy  and  even  repellent  as  she  was  with 
Dick,  when  she  chose  to  be  kind  to  the  unhappy  little 
curate  she  could  charm  him  for  the  time  into  forgetting 
his  unhappiness. 


"LOVE   THAT   HATH  US  IN   HIS  NET"      151 

They  stopped  for  lunch  at  an  inn  the  Duke  knew 
of  old.  It  was  a  pleasant,  old-fashioned  place,  with 
a  landlady  who  might  have  walked  out  of  Dickens.  A 
pretty  waiting-maid  showed  the  ladies  to  a  dim,  flowery, 
fragrant  room  upstairs,  and  provided  them  with  hot 
water  and  honey  soap  and  towels  that  smelt  of  lavender. 

"  How  clean  you  look !  "  said  Mabel  Kingscote, 
shaking  the  dust  from  her  red  cloak.  "  Here  we  are 
all  like  millers  with  the  dust,  except  Miss  Semple  who 
is  perfectly  spotless." 

"It  is  only  the  deceptiveness  of  my  dust-cloak 
and  my  hat.  I  thought  they  would  keep  cleaner,  or  at 
least  look  cleaner  than  most  things,"  Dorothea  said, 
unpinning  the  veil  of  creamy  chiffon  which  she  had 
had  wound  about  her  straw  hat. 
'  "  I  wish  I  could  look  so  radiant,"  said  Mab,  enviously. 

After  they  had  had  their  lunch  in  a  big  wooden 
structure  in  the  garden  the  windows  of  which  were 
garlanded  with  cherry  boughs  in  blossom,  the  young 
people  scattered  to  explore  the  most  charming  of 
villages,  while  their  elders  rested  in  wicker  chairs 
under  the  apple  boughs  till  it  was  time  for  tea. 

Mr.  Goldhawk  had  secured  a  place  by  Lady  Stella's 
side.  They  walked  together  across  a  wide,  emerald- 
green  field,  where  sheep  were  feeding,  crossed  an 
unsteady  plank  over  a  little  pond  full  of  bulrushes,  and, 
stepping  across  a  stile,  found  themselves  in  a  woodland 


152  DICK  PENTREATH 

path  that  went  down  step  by  step  to  a  rustic  bridge 
over  a  quiet  green  lake. 

They  leant  on  the  rails  in  silence  for  a  few  moments. 
A  flock  of  ducks,  which  had  received  their  coming  with 
a  tremendous  quacking,  reassured  by  the  stillness, 
sailed  away  over  the  glassy  waters. 

"  We  have  left  the  others  behind,"  said  Lady  Stella. 

"There  are  so  many  ways  one  can  take  here.  I 
saw  Miss  Semple  with  the  curate  just  before  we  entered 
the  wood.  They  must  have  turned  down  one  of  those 
green  avenues." 

Lady  Stella  turned  and  smiled  at  him  candidly. 
"  Poor  Dick  !  "  she  murmured. 

"  He  seemed  rather  down  on  his  luck,"  Mr.  Gold- 
hawk  acknowledged. 

"  It  will  be  all  right,"  Lady  Stella  said. 

"  Of  course  it  will  be  all  right.  The  thing  wouldn't 
be  half  so  good  for  those  young  persons  if  there  were 
not  a  little  uncertainty,  a  little  bitter  with  the  sweet." 

"  I  hope  she  won't  give  Dick  too  much  bitter." 

"He  is  all  right,"  Mr.  Goldhawk  said.  "Every- 
thing has  gone  so  well  with  him  hitherto.  Life  seems 
to  have  done  her  best  to  spoil  him.  Not  that  he  is 
spoilt.  I  confess  I  like  the  golden  lad." 

"  Every  one  likes  Dick." 

He  looked  at  her  profile,  as  she  leant  down  gazing 
into  the  water,  with  an  expression  of  great  tenderness. 


"LOVE  THAT   HATH  US  IN   HIS  NET"      153 

"  I  have  no  reason  to  dislike  him,"  he  said  enigma- 
tically. "  I  owe  him  a  good  turn.  Would  you  like  me 
to  do  him  a  good  turn,  Lady  Stella  ? " 

She  looked  up  at  him.   "  What  can  you  do  for  him  ? " 

"  It  seems  that  he  wants  money,  a  modest  amount, 
and  that  he  contemplates  matrimony.  Six  or  seven 
thousand  pounds  would  buy  him  a  farm  adjoining  his 
own  ground  which  he  covets.  He  told  me  the  amount 
of  his  income ;  it  is  a  moderate  one,  seeing  the  company 
he  keeps." 

"I  suppose  it  is,"  said  Lady  Stella.  "I  haven't 
thought  about  it.  To  be  sure,  he  has  the  simplest 
tastes." 

"  He  could  do  with  a  little  more  money.  Shall  I 
give  it  to  hi™  ? " 

Her  eyes  looked  inquiry  at  him. 

"  He  has  a  few  loose  hundreds.  I  can  make  them 
into  as  many  thousands." 

"  As  a  matter  of  business  ? " 

"  As  a  matter  of  business.  I  don't  think  Pentreath 
would  see  it  any  other  way." 

"  I  am  sure  he  would  not." 

"Ami  to  do  it?" 

"  It  would  be  very  kind." 

Mr.  Goldhawk  lifted  Lady  Stella's  hand  and 
kissed  it. 

"  Shall  we  go  back  ? "  he  said. 


154  DICK  PENTREATH 

"  I  promised  to  pour  out  tea,"  she  answered. 

He  walked  along  beside  her  with  his  air  of  strength 
and  patience.  "  When  I  desire  a  thing,"  he  had  said 
to  her  once,  "I  can  wait  for  it  endlessly."  At  the 
moment  she  remembered  the  speech,  and  thought  that 
he  looked  as  though  he  could  wait  endlessly. 

It  was  a  day  of  fret  and  fume  for  Dick.  Dorothea 
eluded  him  all  the  day.  Mr.  Nigel's  air  of  surprised 
gratification  at  Miss  Semple's  kindness  was  almost 
pathetic.  Towards  the  end  of  the  day  Dick  looked  grim. 
He  had  possibilities  of  temper  that  few  people  suspected. 

Fortunately  the  long  motoring  expedition  had  made 
the  elders  tired  and  the  party  retired  early. 

Mrs.  Semple  was  in  distress.  "Dolly  has  been 
behaving  so  curiously  to  Mr.  Pentreath,"  she  said  to 
her  husband,  who  answered  sleepily  that  Pentreath 
was  an  excellent  fellow,  and  what  did  she  mean  about 
Dolly's  behaving  curiously  ? 

"  She  kept  him  at  arm's  length  all  day,  as  though 
he  had  offended  her." 

"  Pentreath  wouldn't  offend  Dolly ;  he  is  much  too 
good  a  fellow." 

"Oh,  go  asleep!"  said  Mrs.  Semple,  in  placid 
despair.  "I  only  hope  Dolly  will  be  careful.  I  am 
sure  she  cares  for  him.  How  could  she  help  it  ?  If 
I  had  ever  had  a  boy.  .  .  .  And  he  is  sweet-tempered, 
but  I  saw  his  eyes  flash." 


"LOVE  THAT  HATH  US  IN  HIS  NET"      155 

Neither  Dick  nor  Dorothea  slept  well.  To  her 
amazement  Dorothea  found  that  in  punishing  Dick 
she  had  punished  herself.  The  day  had  been  distinctly 
less  pleasant  than  others.  Truth  to  tell,  she  had  found 
that  Mr.  Nigel  had  very  little  to  say.  Despite  the 
comfort  of  Dorothea's  kindness  his  attention  had 
wandered  many  times  towards  Mabel  Kingscote  and 
Harold  Stiles  who  was  perpetually  at  her  side.  "  Why 
couldn't  Mr.  Stiles  have  chosen  elsewhere  ? "  the  little 
man's  pathetic  eyes  seemed  to  ask.  Apparently  he  was 
going  to  let  Mabel  go  without  a  struggle,  because  he 
had  so  humble  an  opinion  of  himself  and  was  so  poor. 

Yet  if  young  Stiles,  with  his  dazzling  prospects 
and  pleasantness  of  looks,  to  say  nothing  of  other 
advantages,  had  looked  elsewhere,  Mabel  might  have 
been  satisfied  in  time  with  his  faithful  love.  If  he 
had  no  very  great  worldly  advantages  to  offer  her  the 
Kingscotes  were  poor;  they  were  accustomed  to  a 
cheerful  poverty,  and  he  would  not  have  been  asking 
her  to  resign  luxuries  and  state  to  become  a  poor 
parson's  wife.  Nor  did  Mabel  herself  look  radiantly 
happy  with  her  new  lover,  although  there  was  an  air 
of  being  comforted  about  her  that  boded  rather  worse 
for  Mr.  Nigel  than  a  more  bride-like  radiance  would 
have  done. 

Mabel  was  feeling  comforted,  consoled  in  that 
quality  which  stood  in  her  sweet  nature  for  personal 


156  DICK   PENTREATH 

vanity,  by  this  conquest.  She  turned  to  Harold  Stiles, 
wearing  a  look  on  his  intellectual  face  as  though  he 
found  her  very  pleasing,  much  as  a  perished  and 
rejected  thing  would  turn  to  a  warm  fire.  It  was  an 
excellent  preparation  for  love. 

Dorothea  slept  ill  the  early  part  of  the  night  and 
soundly  in  its  latter  part.  But  she  awoke  to  a  know- 
ledge that  it  was  yet  early  morning.  As  she  lay 
between  sleep  and  waking,  she  heard  the  footsteps  of 
the  servants  in  the  corridor  as  they  went  downstairs, 
and  knew  that  it  was  half -past  six  o'clock. 

The  birds  were  singing  sweetly  outside  her  open 
window  as  she  got  up  and  drew  the  curtains  aside. 
The  air  blew  with  morning  sweetness  against  her  face. 
The  whole  smiling,  gentle  awakened  world  called  her 
to  come  out. 

She  dressed  herself  quickly  and  went  down  through 
the  silent  house. 

As  she  passed  Dick  Pentreath's  door,  Sancho,  lying 
on  the  mat,  came  to  her  and  thrust  his  nose  into  her 
hand  and  then  returned  to  his  place.  Even  for  her 
he  was  not  going  to  desert  the  post  of  duty. 

She  stole  past  the  door  with  an  unexpected  feeling 
of  pride  and  pleasure  stirring  in  her  heart  because 
Dick  was  so  beloved.  He  was  her  first  lover  and  he 
was  a  creditable  one.  She  could  not  tell  whether  it 
was  a  pain  or  a  pleasure  that  she  had  entered  into 


"LOVE  THAT  HATH  US  IN  HIS  NET"   157 

her  woman's  kingdom -j  she  hardly  knew  whether  she 
dreaded  losing  her  lover  or  not. 

She  went  out  into  the  smiling  garden.  There  was" 
a  little  moisture  on  the  grass,  unlike  the  heavy  dews 
that  would  come  with  the  full  summer.  She  pressed 
her  hand  on  the  grass,  and  touched  her  cheeks  with  her 
cool  damp  palm,  with  a  little  smile  at  her  own  folly. 
She  did  not  need  even  the  cosmetic  of  the  May  dew  to 
make  her  complexion  sweeter. 

She  was  standing  by  the  sundial  watching  a  flight 
of  white  pigeons  about  the  tall  pigeon-cote  when  a 
shadow  fell  on  the  grass  beside  her. 

"  I  saw  you  from  the  window,"  said  Dick,  "  so  I 
came.  I  wanted  to  ask  you  what  I  had  done  to 
offend  you.  Yesterday  was  horrible.  If  it  hadn't 
been  little  Nigel  I'd  have  killed  him." 

He  spoke  almost  roughly;  and,  oddly  enough,  it 
affected  Dorothea  as  his  other  manner  towards  her 
had  not. 

"You  know  I  love  you,"  he  went  on.  "I  loved 
you  from  the  first  hour  I  saw  your  golden  head.  Are 
you  going  to  love  me  ?  If  not " 

Her  eyes  fell  before  this  young  barbarian.  Her 
face  became  all  one  flame  of  colour. 

"You  should  not,"  she  began  unsteadily,  "have 
been  outside  my  window.  I  did  not  know " 

"  I  felt  like  Borneo,"  he  said,  "  when  Juliet  came 


158  DICK  PENTREATH 

upon  the  balcony.     You  don't  know  how  hard  it  was 
to  keep  from  telling  you  I  loved  you  then." 

She  turned  away  her  head.  She  was  like  a  rose ;  a 
rose  for  the  plucking,  for  the  wearing  of  her  happy  lover. 

"  Why — you  love  me !  "  he  cried  out,  in  an  in- 
credulous delight.  "  Oh,  what  a  great  thing  it  is  that 
love  is  in  the  world !  How  could  I  have  lived  so  long 
without  it  ? " 

He  strained  her  to  his  breast  almost  roughly.  He 
kissed  her  hair,  her  eyes,  her  lips,  and  came  back  to 
kiss  again  and  she  did  not  repulse  him.  If  her  heart 
was  not  altogether  awake  yet  the  woman  in  her  had 
yielded  more  easily  than  she  could  have  thought  to 
this  conquering  lover.  Her  defences  were  down. 
All  her  shy  aversions  seemed  to  have  flown.  She  let 
him  lift  her  arms  and  place  them  round  his  neck.  He 
felt  her  heart  beat  against  his  own  as  she  submitted  to 
his  extravagances  of  love. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  when  they  had  heard  the  breakfast- 
bell  ring  and  tried  to  assume  what  sobriety  of  manner 
they  might,  preparatory  to  facing  eyes  other  than  those 
of  the  blackbirds  and  thrushes,  "  now,  I  shall  never  be 
afraid  of  you  again." 

"  You  should  not  have  been  afraid,"  she  said.  And 
then,  with  the  first  touch  of  coquetry  he  had  seen  in 
her,  she  smiled  at  him  shyly.  "  It  is  I  who  shall  be 
afraid  of  you,"  she  whispered. 


CHAPTEE  XIII 

THE  ENVY  OF  THE  GODS 

EVEKY  one  had  smiled  on  the  fortunate  termination  to 
Dick's  wooing.  Well  accustomed  as  she  was  to  tender- 
ness, Dorothea  had  never  before  lived  in  an  atmosphere 
of  such  approval.  After  all,  it  was  Dick's  county ;  and 
they  knew  little  about  Dorothea,  except  that  she  was 
beautiful  and  looked  good.  They  congratulated  Dick ; 
but  they  came  privately,  one  by  one,  to  Dorothea,  and 
there  was  something  more  heartfelt  in  their  congratu- 
lations. Her  heart  swelled  in  her  with  pride  at  the 
things  they  said  regarding  Dick;  and  she  was  rather 
pleased  than  otherwise  at  their  obvious  assumption 
that  she  was  the  one  to  be  congratulated. 

"  I  should  not  mind,"  she  said  to  Lady  Stella,  "  at 
least  not  so  much,  what  the  women  say  about  him,  for 
he  is  very  handsome  and  he  has  kind,  pleasant  manners. 
Women  were  sure  to  be  fond  of  him.  I  only  wonder 
he  should  have  been  left  for  me.  But  I  do  mind  what 
his  male  friends  say — every  one,  gentle  and  simple. 

159 


160  DICK  PENTREATH 

They  have  said  such  dear  things  about  him.  I  told 
him  the  other  day  that '  Beware  when  all  men  speak 
well  of  you '  applies  to  him." 

"We  all  trust  you  with  him,"  said  Lady  Stella, 
seriously.  "It  is  quite  true  that  Dick  is  the  best 
beloved  person  in  the  county.  I  don't  think  any  one 
of  us  could  forgive  the  one  who  brought  him  hurt  or 
harm." 

"  I  shall  do  my  best,"  said  Dorothea,  with  a  grave 
sweetness  that  appealed  to  the  elder  woman. 

Everything  was  indeed  going  well  with  Dick. 
Even  that  little  fret  of  his  that  he  was  not  richer,  for 
Dorothea's  sake,  seemed  likely  to  be  removed.  He 
had  made  over  to  Mr.  Goldhawk  those  eight  hundred 
pounds  which  had  been  lying  in  the  bank  for  some 
time  too  small  to  make  use  of,  and  had  asked  no 
questions  as  to  what  the  financier  intended  to  do 
with  it. 

"  I  should  make  an  offer  for  the  farm,"  Mr.  Gold- 
hawk  said,  "  and  put  in  hand  any  alterations  you  intend 
bo  make  in  the  house  for  the  bride's  coming.  Have 
you  fixed  the  date  ?  " 

"  The  twenty-first  of  June." 

"  Will  you  lunch  with  me  at  the  Carlton  Club  on 
the — let  me  see — the  eighteenth,  shall  we  say  ?  I  shall 
be  able  to  give  you  an  account  of  my  stewardship  by 
then." 


"  WHAT  A  PITY  MRS.  PKNTREATH  COULDN'T  HAVE  LIVED 
TO  SEE  HOW  MASTER  DICK  GREW  UP."  [page  #] 


THE  ENVY  OF  THE  GODS        161 

"  You  really  think  I  may  buy  the  farm  and  hand 
over  the  house  to  the  painters  ?  " 

"  Your  caution  becomes  a  man  about  to  be  married. 
Yes;  I  am  quite  sure  you  ought  to  buy  the  farm. 
There  won't  be  any  risks  in  the  investment  I  propose 
to  make  for  you.  You  will  trust  me  entirely  with  the 
matter  ? " 

"Absolutely." 

"  That  is  right ;  you  won't  be  sorry,  I  promise  you." 

"  You  know  I  think  it  no  end  of  good  of  you  to 
take  an  interest  in  my  small  affairs,"  said  Dick,  with 
the  inarticulateness  of  the  male  person  who  would 
express  gratitude.  "  I  wonder  why  you  are  so  decent 
to  me." 

• "  Lady  Stella  Gascoigne  is  greatly  interested  in  you." 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure ;  I  ought  to  have  known.  There 
isn't  a  woman  like  her  in  the  world.  I  don't  know 
why  she  ever  let  me  be  her  friend;  but  I'm  a  better 
man  for  it  than  I  should  have  been  otherwise." 

"  I  agree  with  you  that  she  is  incomparable,"  said 
Mr.  Goldhawk. 

The  six  weeks  to  the  wedding-day  turned  round 
goldenly  for  Dick.  To  be  sure,  he  was  the  most 
restless  of  mortals.  He  wandered  in  and  out  of  the 
rooms,  which  were  in  the  hands  of  a  firm  of  London 
decorators,  a  hundred  times  a  day.  He  was  constantly 
running  up  to  London  to  see  Dorothea.  He  would  call 

M 


162  DICK   PENTREATH 

on  his  friends  and  fidget  restlessly  while  he  stayed; 
but  for  all  that  he  was  happy.  He  was  only  unhappy 
at  the  moments  when  he  had  to  leave  Dorothea. 
"  Supposing  I  were  to  die  at  this  time ! "  he  would  say 
to  himself,  with  a  contraction  of  the  heart.  "  Suppos- 
ing she  were  never  to  be  mine,  after  all !  " 

Sometimes,  when  he  was  at  home,  he  would  try  to 
settle  to  some  employment ;  he  would  interview  his 
farm-bailiff  and  go  into  his  accounts.  He  would  set 
himself  to  answer  his  neglected  correspondence  with  a 
determination  not  to  be  distracted;  but  presently  he 
would  get  up  and  pace  the  room  with  a  springy  step 
of  delight,  while  Sancho  from  the  hearthrug  turned  a 
wondering  eye  upon  him. 

"  I  can't  help  it,  old  fellow,"  Dick  would  say,  laugh- 
ing. "  I  can't  keep  quiet.  Supposing  we  go  out  and 
walk  it  off!" 

It  was  not  so  very  happy  a  time  for  Sancho, 
although  he  knew  his  master  was  happy  and  was  glad 
of  that.  There  were  too  many  absences.  Dick  would 
leave  Dorothea  with  an  understanding  that  they  were 
not  to  meet  again  for  some  days ;  and  perhaps  the  next 
evening  he  would  appear,  laughing  and  apologetic,  just 
as  the  family  were  sitting  down  to  dinner. 

"  It's  no  use,  darling,"  he  would  say,  when  Dorothea 
scolded  him  for  his  restlessness,  getting  down  on  a 
footstool  and  putting  his  head  on  her  knees.  "  I  can't 


THE  ENVY  OP  THE  GODS        163 

help  it.     Couldn't  we  be   married  earlier  than  the 
twenty-first  ? " 

"  Why,  that  hardly  gives  us  time,"  Dorothea  would 
answer.  "  Madame  Muriel  says  the  girls  will  have  to 
work  over-time  to  get  us  ready.  You  must  see  the 
little  ones  in  their  bridesmaid's  frocks.  They  look 
delicious.* 

"  Let  me  see  them  before  the  day,"  said  Dick.  "  I 
warn  you  that  I  shall  see  no  one  but  you  that  day." 

"  The  poor  child ! "  Mrs.  Semple  said  to  her  husband. 
"  He  interferes  even  with  her  visits  to  the  dressmaker. 
I  do  wish  we  could  send  Dick  for  a  little  trip  some- 
where till  the  arrangements  for  the  wedding  are  com- 
pleted and  Dolly's  boxes  packed." 

They  were  going  to  a  cottage  in  the  New  Forest, 
on  the  edge  of  the  sea,  for  their  honeymoon.  An  old 
servant  of  Mrs.  Semple's  had  been  sent  down  to  prepare 
the  cottage.  She  was  to  do  all  they  needed  for  that 
halcyon  month.  Later  on,  Dick  proposed  to  take  his 
bride  abroad.  Neither  of  them  was  very  travelled ; 
but  the  first  weeks  of  their  wonderful,  new  life  together 
were  not  to  be  broken  in  upon  by  the  racket  of  travel 
and  life  in  foreign  hotels,  not  to  be  spent  with  strange 
eyes  upon  them. 

On  the  evening  of  the  eighteenth,  Dick  was  to  be 
entertained  by  his  bachelor  friends  to  a  farewell  dinner 
in  a  London  restaurant.  As  soon  as  he  could  afterwards, 


164  DICK   PENTREATH 

he  was  to  join  Dorothea  and  her  mother  and  sister  at 
the  opera,  for  which  Mr.  Goldhawk  had  sent  them  a 
box,  sleeping  the  night  at  his  hotel.  The  next  day  he 
was  to  go  back  to  Oakhurst  for  the  last  time  as  an 
unmarried  man.  On  the  20th  he  would  come  up  to 
town,  and  after  dining  at  the  Vicarage,  spend  the  night 
in  a  hotel. 

They  were  to  be  married  by  Mr.  Semple  the 
following  day.  There  were  to  be  a  few  very  intimate 
friends  present  at  the  marriage.  "We  shall  give  a 
wedding  dinner  when  we  get  home,"  said  Dick.  It 
was  true  that  the  Rectory  had  no  very  great  resources 
in  the  way  of  room,  and  neither  bride  nor  bridegroom 
was  anxious  for  a  public  wedding. 

Dick,  too,  had  been  making  himself  fine  for  his 
wedding.  He  was  wearing  a  grey  frock-coat  cut  by 
Poole  and  he  had  an  orchid  in  his  button-hole  when 
he  walked  into  the  dining-room  at  the  Carlton  Club. 
But  it  was  not  Dick's  smartness  that  made  a  good 
many  fatigued  legislators  and  blastf  men-about-town 
look  at  him  as  he  walked  down  the  room,  with  surprise. 

"  Looks  as  if  he  had  just  won  the  Derby,"  said  one 
youth  to  another. 

"  There's  a  man  about  to  be  married,"  said  an  older 
man. 

Otto  Goldhawk  had  a  whimsical  notion  to  tell  Dick 
not  to  look  quite  so  radiant,  lest  somebody  should  be 


THE  ENVY  OF  THE  GODS        165 

prospecting  him  for  a  new  kind  of  light ;  but  facetious- 
ness  was  not  much  in  his  line,  and  he  refrained. 

The  young  fellow  did  justice  to  the  excellent  lunch, 
but  was  abstemious  with  the  wine. 

"  I  haven't  much  of  a  head,"  he  confessed,  laughing. 
"  I've  never  felt  any  need  of  stimulants,  having  a 
sufficiency  of  animal  spirits,  perhaps,  without  them ;  so 
I've  never  'made  my  head,'  as  I  heard  an  Irishman 
call  it  once.  And  I'll  have  to  drink  champagne  at 
dinner.  You  know  they're  giving  me  a  send-off — the 
Duke,  and  Creyke,  and  Egerton,  and  Casaubon,  and 
Beauclerk  Marshbanks,  and  some  other  good  fellows." 

Mr.  Goldhawk  did  not  press  the  wines  upon  him 
after  that.  He  looked  at  him  with  a  curious  half-envy. 

"  No,  by  Jove ! "  he  said.  "  You  don't  look  as 
though  champagne  could  make  the  world  rosier  for 
you." 

After  lunch  they  found  a  quiet  corner  in  the 
library,  with  an  open  window  and  a  screen  conve- 
niently adjusted  which  left  them  in  a  little  solitude. 
Mr.  Goldhawk  took  a  pocket-book  from  an  inner 
pocket,  and  having  lit  a  cigar,  extracted  some  papers 
from  the  pocket-book  and  laid  them  on  the  table 
between  him  and  Dick. 

"  I  invested  your  eight  hundred  pounds,"  he  said, 
"  in  — —  and  Company,  on  the  1st  of  June.  You  know 
that  it  was  pretty  well  impossible  for  the  outside  public 


166  DICK   PENTREATH 

to  get  any  of  the  shares.  A  few  have  been  put  on  the 
market  since,  and  have  been  bought  up  at  anything  the 
sellers  chose  to  ask.  I  bought  eighty  ten  pound  shares 
in  your  name.  I  have  sold  them  since  for  a  hundred 
pounds  apiece.  The  market  is  still  rising,  but  I  thought 
you  had  had  as  much  profit  as  you  could  legitimately 
expect.  Mr.  Pentreath,  I  have  the  pleasure  to  present 

you  with  a  cheque  on 's  Bank  for  eight  thousand 

pounds,  less  commission." 

He  watched  Dick's  agitated  face  while  he  knocked 
off  his  cigar-ash  into  the  ash-tray. 

"  There ! "  he  said,  when  Dick  would  have  thanked 
him.  "  I  am  very  glad  to  have  been  useful.  There  is 
only  one  thing  I  shall  exact  of  you  in  return." 

"  Anything,"  cried  Dick,  with  a  flushed  and  joyous 
face. 

"  It  is  only  that  you  won't  attempt  any  gambling 
in  stocks  and  shares  on  your  own  account.  I  should 
have  done  you  a  very  bad  turn  if  I  had  given  you  a 
taste  for  that  sort  of  thing.  Don't  do  anything,  at 
least,  without  consulting  me." 

"  I  promise,"  said  Dick. 

"  Who  are  your  bankers  ? " 

Dick  mentioned  a  famous  firm  whose  headquarters 
were  not  very  far  from  the  room  where  they  were 
sitting. 

"Ah,  good!      I    would    put    the    cheque    in    ED 


THE  ENVY  OF  1HE  GODS        167 

envelope  and  drop  it  into  the  Bank's  letter-box  as  we 
pass  by.  As  soon  as  you  have  finished  your  cigar  I 
want  you  to  come  with  me  to  Bond  Street  to  see  a 
trinket  I  have  chosen  for  the  bride.  You  must  tell  me 
if  she  will  like  it." 

The  world  indeed  smiled  on  Dick  that  day.  For 
the  thousandth  time  he  wondered  why  his  world  should 
be  so  good  to  him ;  and  in  an  inarticulate  way  he  sent 
a  thought  towards  the  Giver  of  all  good  things.  Just 
one  regret  he  had  on  this  day  of  days,  that  his  mother 
had  not  lived  to  know  of  all  his  joys ;  yet  even  that 
regret  was  vague,  without  bitterness ;  rather  gentle  and 
sweet,  as  every  thought  connected  with  his  mother  was. 

He  saw  the  "trinket" — a  pearl  necklace,  with  a 
little  diamond  pendant,  a  delicate  and  costly  thing, 
sealed  up  and  addressed  to  Dorothea.  He  imagined  it 
on  her  milky  neck.  He  had  not  been  able  to  give  her 
anything  so  beautiful,  but  he  was  glad  that  she  should 
have  it  all  the  same.  It  would  match  the  seed-pearl 
brooch  that  had  been  Lady  Stella's  gift. 

They  turned  aside  into  a  post-office  to  send  the  pre- 
cious packet.  Then  it  was  time  for  them  to  part.  Dick 
had  twenty  things  to  arrange  about  before  his  dinner  hour. 

He  wrung  Mr.  Goldhawk's  hand  as  they  were  parting. 

"  I'm  a  dumb  dog,"  said  he,  laughing  and  blushing. 
"But  I  wish  the  day  might  come  when  I  could  do 
something  big  for  you,  Goldhawk." 


168  DICK   PENTREATH 

"  I  know  all  about  that,"  the  other  said.  "  Perhaps 
the  chance  may  come.  You  don't  look  as  if  anybody 
could  do  anything  to  add  to  your  felicity.  If  I  were 
you  I'd  throw  something  away,  as  the  King  did  in  the 
story,  to  propitiate  the  gods.  You  lucky  young  dog,  why 
should  you  be  so  much  happier  than  other  people  ? " 

All  Dick's  business  was  connected  with  his  wedding, 
and  it  should  have  been  known  by  some  other  name 
than  business ;  for  the  young  fellow  went  through  it  in 
a  rapture  that  beamed  and  overflowed  on  tailors'  and 
jewellers'  assistants,  and  the  young  man  behind  the 
counter  at  ThornhiU's  in  Bond  Street,  and  various  other 
persons,  who  felt  that  the  fine  day  had  gained  some- 
thing in  radiance  while  Dick  transacted  his  business 
with  them,  without  knowing  exactly  why. 

Everything  was  done  in  good  time.  Dorothea's 
dressing-bag  was  sent  home,  with  the  beautiful  set  of 
lace  which  was  another  of  her  lover's  gifts;  in  his 
breast-pocket  he  carried  like  some  hidden  fountain  of 
joy  his  wedding-ring.  He  had  nothing  more  on  his 
mind.  He  could  go  home  to-morrow  to  see  that  every- 
thing was  progressing  at  Oakhurst,  and  to  stay  a  few 
hours  there  before  returning  to  London  to  await  his 
wedding-day.  As  he  drove  in  the  hansom  to  the  quiet 
hotel  where  he  put  up  whenever  he  came  to  London,  to 
dress,  he  made  calculations  like  a  child  of  the  hours 
that  lay  between  him  and  his  marriage.  Again  he 


THE  ENVY  OF  THE  GODS        169 

had  the  fear  that  something  might  happen  even  yet  to 
snatch  his  joy  from  him  and  for  the  moment  he  turned 
hot  and  cold. 

As  he  drove  to  the  restaurant  later  the  streets  were 
full  of  hansoms  and  carriages  with  people  in  evening- 
dress  in  them  going  to  dinner  and  the  theatres.  The 
shops  were  putting  up  their  shutters,  but  the  streets  were 
yet  golden  with  sunlight.  There  were  flowers  in  the 
window-boxes,  on  the  pavements,  in  the  people's  hands 
and  dresses,  everywhere.  He  remembered  that  he  had 
ordered  flowers  for  Dorothea  that  morning,  pink  roses 
with  long  pink  streamers,  and  wondered  if  she  would 
receive  them  in  time  for  the  theatre.  He  wished  he 
might  have  given  her  and  Mrs.  Semple  and  Hilda 
dinner  before  the  theatre;  but,  to  be  sure,  the  wish 
was  an  ungrateful  one ;  he  needn't  grudge  those  good 
fellows  whom  he  was  leaving  behind  in  the  barren 
waste  of  bachelorhood  an  hour  or  two  of  his  company. 

A  good  many  people  looked  at  the  bonny  and  happy 
young  fellow  as  his  hansom  carried  him  past  the  long 
stream  of  vehicles  going  the  other  way.  There  was  no 
sign  of  poverty  or  sadness  this  gold-coloured  evening. 
Nothing  to  say  the  world  was  not  enough  for  all  happi- 
ness except  the  blue  bonnets  and  jerseys  of  the  Salvation 
Army  as  it  trudged  patiently  and  humbly  in  the  road- 
way. A  Hallelujah  lass  with  a  pretty,  pale  face  held 
out  her  tambourine  to  Dick  as  the  traffic  was  momentarily 


170  DICK  PENTBEATH 

interrupted  He  flung  a  sovereign  into  it  and  smiled 
at  the  pale  face,  lifting  his  hat.  A  thought  of  his 
grace  and  youthfulness  remained  with  the  girl  after  the 
traffic  had  swept  on  again,  and  she  sent  up  a  prayer 
that  he  might  be  saved  from  the  sins  of  youth  and 
riches  and  idleness. 

His  bachelor  friends  were  all  young  and  gay,  not  an 
old  head  among  them.  The  chef  had  done  his  best  for 
them,  and  the  wines  were  the  choicest  the  famous 
house  could  supply.  When  Dick  sat  down  to  dinner  he 
was  conscious  only  of  a  wish  that  the  dinner  were  done 
and  over  so  that  he  might  be  on  his  way  to  Dorothea. 
To  suit  him  they  had  dined  early ;  when  it  came  to  toast- 
ing his  health,  they  had  promised  not  to  delay  unduly, 
since  they  were  aware  of  Dick's  engagement  at  the  opera. 

However,  before  the  dinner  was  over  some  of  the 
young  men  were  in  a  less  reasonable  frame  of  mind 
than  when  they  had  started.  Some  of  them  were 
growing  a  bit  noisy ;  were  inclined  to  chaff  Dick  and 
reproach  him  that  he  would  not  make  the  most  of  his 
farewell  dinner,  since  dull  domesticity  was  to  be  his  lot 
for  the  remainder  of  his  days. 

Some  of  the  younger  ones  were  in  a  mood  to  play 
tricks  on  Dick.  When  the  serious  part  of  the  dinner 
was  over,  the  Duke  proposed  the  toast  of  Dick's  health 
and  happiness.  At  the  same  time,  on  behalf  of  his 
bachelor  friends,  he  desired  to  make  it  known  that 


THE  ENVY  OF  THE  GODS        171 

they  wished  to  present  Dick  with  a  new  hunter — Dick's 
stables  were  never  very  full — and  a  hunting  saddle. 
They  were  sorry  the  hunter  could  not  be  trotted  out  for 
Dick  to  see.  The  resources  of  the  famous  restaurant 
did  not  permit  of  that,  but  it  had  been  sent  down  that 
day  to  Oakhurst,  and,  on  behalf  of  Dick's  bachelor 
friends,  the  Duke  wished  him  luck  with  his  new  steed. 
On  the  morrow  the  Duke  proposed  to  present,  on  behalf 
of  the  same  friends,  a  diamond  tiara  to  the  bride. 

Gifts  had  not  been  in  Dick's  mind  at  all ;  the  general 
good- will  waa  enough  to  fill  his  heart  to  overflowing. 
But  these  very  substantial  proofs  of  good-will  nearly 
overwhelmed  the  poor  fellow.  He  tried  to  say  some- 
thing, was  agitated,  and  dreadfully  ashamed  of  his 
agitation.  While  he  stood  looking  at  them  all  and 
trying  to  find  words,  one  of  the  young  fellows  filled  his 
half- emptied  glass  unobserved.  Dick,  struggling  for 
words,  lifted  the  glass  and  drained  it.  His  neighbour, 
winking  across  the  table,  filled  it  again. 

"  Come,  Pentreath,"  he  said,  when,  after  a  few  halting 
words,  Dick  had  sat  down  in  his  place  quite  overcome, 
"  you  have  not  tasted  your  wine.  You're  not  going  to 
leave  us  yet.  We  must  drink  the  health  and  happiness 
of — Mrs.  Pentreath." 

To  the  heedless  lads  it  was  the  primest  of  jests  to 
hold  Dick  there  and  make  him  drink  against  his  will, 
indeed,  without  his  knowledge.  A  glass  or  two  of 


172  DICK   PENTREATH 

wine  Dick  drank  without  knowing  it;  another  glass 
or  two,  and  Teddy  Casaubon  was  able  to  pour  brandy 
into  the  champagne  without  Dick's  discovering  it. 
The  sum  total  of  his  evening's  drinking  would  have 
meant  nothing  to  most  of  the  youths  present ;  but  Dick 
had  always  been  abstemious  from  choice  and  had  no 
head  for  drink,  besides  being  so  overcome  by  kindly  and 
friendly  emotions,  that  he  was  little  able  to  withstand 
the  wine. 

At  last  he  tore  himself  away  from  the  merry  com- 
pany, and,  eluding  the  hands  that  would  have  held 
him,  ran  downstairs  and  jumped  into  a  cab.  He  was 
conscious  of  nothing  himself  but  a  feeling  of  great 
exhilaration,  nor  at  the  moment  did  he  suggest  to  any 
one  else  that  he  might  possibly  have  drunk  too  much. 
Else  there  were  one  or  two  of  the  party  who  would 
have  been  anxious,  and  Teddy  Casaubon  might  have 
felt  uncomfortable  as  to  the  result  of  his  pranks. 

Some  of  them  had  run  downstairs  after  Dick. 

"  If  we  only  had  an  old  shoe,"  said  Teddy,  gazing 
thoughtfully  at  his  smart  footgear. 

"  Or  a  handful  of  rice,"  said  young  Egerton. 

Dick,  smiling,  flushed,  and  bright-eyed,  waved  them 
a  farewell  from  the  cab. 

"  Good  fellow,  Dick  ! "  said  one  of  the  lads,  gazing 
after  the  hansom  that  was  carrying  Dick  away  to  the 
end  of  his  gaiety  and  his  youth. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  END  OF  THE  DAY 

AT  the  entrance  to  the  box  Dick  stumbled,  laughed, 
and  recovered  himself.  The  opera  was  Lohengrin,  and 
Ternina  was  singing  the  Balcony  Song.  There  was  a 
dead  silence  in  the  house,  a  silence  unbroken  even  by 
the  rustling  of  the  scores  over  which  the  bespectacled 
German  clerks  in  the  upper  gallery  hung  in  rapture. 

At  the  noise  of  Dick's  entry  some  hundreds  of  pairs 
of  eyes  were  turned  reproachfully  in  the  direction  of  the 
box  in  which  the  disturbance  had  taken  place.  A  little 
pink  crept  into  Dorothea's  creamy  cheek.  For  the  first 
time  in  their  courtship  she  felt  annoyed  with  Dick. 
Why  had  he  been  so  clumsy  ? 

He  shook  hands  with  Mrs.  Semple  and  Hilda,  with 
an  empressement  foreign  to  his  quiet,  English  ways. 

Then  he  drew  a  chair  close  up  behind  Dorothea's. 

"I  wish  I  wasn't  so  late,"  he  began  in  a  loud 
whisper.  "Those  fellows  kept  me.  Awfully  good 
fellows.  Couldn't  get  away  from  them." 

173 


174  DICK  PENTREATH 

"  Hush  ! "  whispered  Dorothea,  putting  a  white  hand 
on  his  arm. 

Dick  took  up  the  hand  and  kissed  it  rather  fatuously. 
The  act  was  not  very  disturbing  in  itself.  It  might 
have  been  done  quietly  without  the  knowledge  of  any 
one  in  the  house.  But  Dick  had  forgotten  his  dis- 
cretion. 

He  leant  against  the  back  of  Dorothea's  chair.  His 
lips  almost  touched  her  shoulder.  He  began  to  tell 
her  some  of  the  events  of  the  day,  quite  unconscious 
of  the  fact  that  his  sibilant  whisper  could  be  heard 
half  way  across  the  house.  For  the  moment  the  glori- 
ous voice  of  the  singer  was  to  Dick  only  something 
through  which  his  own  voice  must  pierce  before  the 
substance  of  what  he  said  could  reach  Dorothea's 
senses. 

"  Hush !  hush !  "  she  said,  in  a  sensitive  anguish. 

Mrs.  Semple  looked  towards  him  in  wonder.  Dick's 
manners  had  always  been  so  charming.  As  her  eyes 
fell  upon  his  face,  she  made  an  odd  movement  as 
though  she  would  shield  and  protect  him. 

A  little  odour  of  brandy  reached  Dorothea's  nostrils 
as  something  faintly  disgusting.  It  was  an  odour  with 
which  she  had  no  intimate  acquaintance.  The  Vicarage 
dinner-table  knew  only  ascetic  drinks — toast-water, 
barley-water,  or,  on  rare  occasions,  a  glass  of  cowslip- 
wine,  manufactured  every  year  by  Mrs.  Semple's  old 


THE  END  OF  THE  DAY  175 

nurse  who  lived  down  Essex  way,  and  sent  yearly 
offerings  of  cowslip  and  parsnip  wine,  of  jams  and 
marmalade,  and  such  things. 

But  Dorothea  had  not  lived  in  the  East  End  without 
at  least  seeing  drunkenness  in  its  most  degraded  form. 
She  had  smelt  something  much  worse  than  that  sickly 
smell,  although  akin  to  it,  as  she  had  passed  groups  of 
ragged  loafers  in  the  street,  or  when  the  swing-door  of 
a  public-house  was  opened  as  she  passed  by,  or,  worst 
of  all,  when  a  drunkard  stumbled  in  the  gutter,  or  sup- 
ported himself  against  the  nearest  lamp-post,  or  shuffled 
along  by  the  railings. 

She  turned  and  looked  at  Dick  with  sudden  alarm. 
Her  cheek  went  white.  A  quiver  of  fear  passed  over 
her  face.  She  looked  away  from  him  to  the  house, 
every  eye  intent  now  on  the  action  of  the  opera  which 
was  proceeding. 

"  We  had  better  go,"  she  said,  leaning  across  to  her 
mother,  that  strange  whitening  and  tightening  of  the 
features  giving  her  a  rigid  look. 

"  If  you  like,  my  dear,"  Mrs.  Semple  said,  getting 
up,  and  looking  nearly  as  alarmed  as  Dorothea  herself. 
In  a  way,  she  was  more  timid  than  her  daughter. 

"  You  are  not  going  ?  "  Hilda  whispered  in  dismay. 
Hilda  had  noticed  nothing  except  that  Dick  was 
rather  more  silly  about  Dolly  than  usual,  but  that, 
she  supposed,  was  to  be  expected  as  he  got  nearer  his 


1 76  DICK  PENTRBATH 

wedding-day.  "  You  are  not  going  ?  Why,  the  opera 
is  only  half  over." 

"  Quite  right,"  said  Dick,  boisterously.  "  What  do 
you  want  to  go  for,  Mrs.  Semple?  Plenty  of  time. 
Why,  the  night's  only  beginning." 

Mrs.  Semple  sat  down  again  indeterminately.  She 
saw  that  Dick  had  taken  rather  more  wine  than  was 
good  for  him;  but  the  thought  that  her  husband  was 
expecting  them  to  pick  him  up  at  Eccleston  Square  at 
eleven  o'clock,  and  that  the  hired  carriage  would  not 
be  in  waiting  for  them  outside  the  opera-house  till 
half-past  ten,  decided  her.  She  had  more  experience 
of  the  world  than  Dorothea,  and  the  mere  fact  that 
Dick  was  exhilarated  by  wine  did  not  seem  to  her  so 
terrible  a  thing.  He  was  not  drunk,  in  the  ordinary 
sense  of  the  word — only  exhilarated  out  of  his  usual 
quietness.  There  was  nothing  for  Dolly  to  be  alarmed 
about ;  no  reason  for  the  momentary  terror  that  she 
herself  had  felt. 

"  The  carriage  will  not  come  for  quite  a  long  time 
yet,"  she  said  in  a  whisper  to  Dorothea.  "  What  are 
we  to  do  while  we  wait  for  it  ? " 

Dorothea  acquiesced  with  an  air  of  despair.  She 
drew  her  chair  into  the  shadow  of  the  heavy  curtains 
with  an  idea  of  hiding  Dick  from  observation.  He 
misunderstood  the  action,  and,  catching  at  her  hand, 
fondled  it. 


THE  END  OF  THE  DAY  177 

She  permitted  the  caress,  although  the  feeling  of 
disgust  was  growing  on  her.  She  would  have  per- 
mitted him  much  if  he  would  only  keep  quiet. 

"Don't  talk,"  she  whispered  to  him.  "Don't  talk. 
I  want  to  listen  to  the  music." 

"  And  I  want  to  listen  to  you,"  said  Dick,  kissing 
her  white  shoulder.  "  You  are  my  music." 

She  had  an  impulse  to  wipe  the  kiss  away  with  her 
handkerchief,  but  she  restrained  herself.  The  narrow- 
ness of  her  youth  and  ignorance  was  making  her  bitter 
towards  the  transgressor.  Fortunately,  she  need  not 
look  at  him.  If  only  he  would  keep  quiet.  She  sat 
looking  at  the  stage,  seeing  nothing  of  what  was  passing, 
with  a  white  and  rigid  face.  Her  expression  perturbed 
her  mother  more  than  Dick's  folly.  Dorothea  had 
always  been  a  little  difficult,  too  sure  of  her  own 
point  of  view  and  obstinate.  From  childhood  her 
heart  had  been  hard  to  move,  although,  when  it  was 
moved,  it  overflowed  in  freshets  and  tides  of  love. 
Supposing  Dorothea  were  going  to  make  it  hard  for 
Dick! 

Unfortunately,  Dick's  folly  had  not  reached  its 
height.  That  mixture  of  champagne  and  brandy,  which 
had  seemed  a  prime  jest  to  Teddy  Casaubon,  had  only 
begun  to  do  its  work.  Dorothea  had  had  a  hope,  once 
she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  the  incredible  thing  that 
her  lover  had  drunk  too  much,  that  he  might  fall  asleep. 


178  DICK   PENTREATH 

How  unhappy  she  was !  she  who  had  been  the  happiest 
girl  in  the  world  a  little  while  ago.  She  had  seen 
persons,  overcome  by  drink,  fall  asleep  in  public  con- 
veyances and  in  the  street.  But  Dick  was  not  at  all 
sleepy. 

He  would  talk;  he  would  repeat  himself;  he  mixed 
his  words.  He  told  jokes  from  which  the  point  had 
somehow  escaped.  The  day  had  been  full  of  happy 
things.  He  must  tell  them  to  Dorothea.  Dorothea 
only  remembered  the  tale  afterwards  as  a  grotesque 
mixture  of  shares  and  cheques,  and  necklets,  and  tiaras, 
and  hunters,  and  hunting-saddles,  and  good  fellows, 
and  kind  speeches,  and  excellent  jokes.  Dick  was  not 
very  coherent,  and  her  mind  was  not  in  a  state  to  sift 
what  he  said. 

Again  she  looked  at  her  mother  in  such  pale 
anguish  that  Mrs.  Semple  stood  up.  But  Dick  would 
not  hear  of  their  going.  With  an  air  which  he  thought 
only  delightfully  waggish  and  pleasantly  persuasive,  he 
placed  himself  between  them  and  the  door. 

"  We  can't  argue  with  him,"  said  Dorothea,  sitting 
down  with  cold  and  stormy  eyes,  while  the  unhappy 
Dick  stumbled  into  his  place  again. 

Then  a  dreadful  event  happened,  for  Dick  burst 
into  laughter  over  one  of  the  pointless  jokes  at  the 
moment  when  Van  Dyck  was  singing  his  Graal  Song. 
At  the  discordant  sound  the  singer  paused,  and  there 


THE  END  OP  THE  DAY  179 

was  an  angry  murmur  through  the  house.  A  moment 
later  an  attendant  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  box  and 
asked  that  the  disturbance  should  not  be  repeated. 
But  by  this  time  Dick  was  nodding  asleep. 

He  slept,  indeed,  through  the  rest  of  the  song. 

"  Let  us  go  now,"  said  Dorothea. 

Mrs.  Semple  read  the  words  from  the  movements 
of  her  lips ;  but  the  girl  was  almost  inarticulate,  and 
looked  as  though  she  would  faint. 

"  And  leave  him  ? "  whispered  Mrs.  Semple,  behind 
her  fan.  "  Do  you  think  we  ought  to  leave  him  ? " 

"  We  will  tell  somebody,  one  of  the  attendants,  the 
address  of  his  hotel.  Let  us  go  before  he  wakes." 

Mrs.  Semple  acquiesced,  with  a  guilty  feeling. 
They  were  going  out  quietly.  As  Dorothea  had  her 
hand  on  the  door,  it  was  opened  from  without,  and  an 
attendant  came  in  with  a  tray  of  coffee  and  ices,  which 
Dick  had  ordered  on  his  way  in. 

The  man  stood  in  some  confusion,  balancing  the 
tray  on  one  hand,  surprised  to  see  the  ladies  apparently 
about  to  leave  the  box.  For  a  moment  he  barred  their 
passage.  Then  Dick  awoke,  sprang  to  his  feet,  gave  an 
unsteady  lurch,  and  down  went  the  tray  and  all  its 
contents  with  a  tremendous  noise. 

Afterwards  Dick  had  a  horrid  dream  of  seeing 
Dorothea,  a  stream  of  coffee  and  ices  mingled  running 
down  her  pink  silk  frock  and  over  her  bouquet.  He 


180  DICK  PBNTREATH 

knew  she  darted  a  look  of  loathing  at  him.  He  had 
begun  to  laugh,  but  the  look  sobered  him  for  the 
moment.  He  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  flung  a 
couple  of  sovereigns  on  the  tray.  When  he  turned 
round,  Dorothea  and  the  others  were  gone. 

He  followed  them  with  what  speed  he  might,  seeing 
that  the  corridor  walls  and  ceiling  moved  about  so  un- 
steadily. The  attendant  hurried  after  him  with  his 
coat  and  hat,  but  Dick  waved  him  off  impatiently. 
People  leaving  the  boxes  and  dress-circle  for  a  prome- 
nade between  the  acts  got  in  his  way.  Every  one 
seemed  to  get  mixed  up  so  oddly;  even  the  carpet 
was  tangled  in  his  feet. 

When  he  stepped  into  the  corridor  he  had  been 
certain  that  he  saw  Dorothea's  pink  skirts  disappearing 
down  the  grand  staircase,  but  by  the  time  he  got  to 
the  head  of  the  staircase — he  had  been  so  hindered  in 
one  way  or  another — there  was  no  sign  of  her.  He 
hurried  down  as  fast  as  he  could  for  the  curious  sway- 
ing motion  of  the  solid  staircase.  He  got  outside  in 
the  glare  of  the  electric  lamps  just  in  time  to  see  a 
four-wheeler  drive  off.  He  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Dorothea's  face.  Why,  what  had  happened  to  her  ?  He 
had  never  seen  her  look  like  that.  Very  odd,  to  run 
away  from  him  without  a  word !  To  be  sure  he  had 
spoilt  her  frock,  but  since  a  day  or  two  would  give  him 
the  privilege  of  paying  for  her  frocks,  she  need  not 


THE   END   OF  THE  DAY  181 

have  taken  it  so  badly.  She  should  have — the  best 
frock — that  Paris  could  produce — instead. 

Some  one  put  on  his  coat  and  hat.  A  hansom 
drove  up. 

"  Where  to  ?  "  asked  the  cabman,  without  looking 
at  Dick. 

Dick  tried  to  tell  him  that  he  was  to  follow  the 
four-wheeler  that  had  just  gone.  He  wanted  to  make 
his  peace  with  Dorothea  to-night,  at  once.  Was  it 
possible  that  she  was  angry  with  him  and  it  only  three 
days  to  their  wedding-day  ? 

He  heard  the  address  of  his  hotel  given  as  though 
from  a  great  distance  off.  He  was  helped  into  his  cab. 
The  air  of  the  summer  night  was  sweet  in  his  face  as 
the  cab  drove  Westward,  and  the  sweetness  of  it  was 
mixed  with  many  things.  His  mother,  Dorothea — 
there  was  something  cold  and  unhappy  about  the 
thought  of  Dorothea — the  smell  of  roses  in  the  garden 
at  Oakhurst,  the  music  of  the  opera,  which  had  reached 
his  sense  without  being  observed  at  the  moment,  the 
quick  light  thud  of  the  horse's  feet,  the  sound  of  the 
hansom  bells— all  these  things  were  making  an  odd 
fantasia  in  his  brain. 

Then  the  cab  stopped  at  the  door  of  the  hotel  and 
the  cabman  assisted  him  to  alight.  He  pocketed  the 
half-sovereign  which  Dick  gave  him,  joyously. 

"  Now,  sir,"  he  said,  not  unkindly,  "  you're  a  little 


182  DICK  PENTREATH 

overcome,  you  are.  But  see  if  you  can't  pull  yourself 
together  and  walk  in  straight." 

He  pulled  Dick's  opera  hat  into  a  proper  position 
on  his  head  and  looked  with  approval  at  his  fare,  who, 
with  a  sudden  straightening  of  his  shoulders,  walked 
up  the  steps,  through  the  glass  door,  and  across  the 
hall.  Then  he  looked  at  the  coin  in  his  palm  and  spat 
on  it  before  consigning  it  to  his  pocket. 

"  'Tisn't  the  first  time,"  he  said,  "  that  I've  said  a 
word  in  season  to  young  gents  as  'as  been  overcome, 
but  never  did  I  see  one  hact  on  it  better.  I'm  glad  'e 
didn't  make  no  bloomin'  fool  of  hisself." 

And  that  was  the  end  of  Dick's  fortunate  day,  on 
which  the  envy  of  the  gods  had  claimed  from  him  his 
pearl  of  great  price. 


CHAPTEE  XV 

THE  BLOW  FALLS 

DICK  woke  in  a  daze,  which  did  not  for  some  moments 
recognize  the  hotel  bedroom,  with  its  unfamiliar  things, 
its  windows  in  unexpected  places. 

There  was  only  a  glimmer  of  light  in  the  room,  for 
the  windows  were  shuttered,  and  the  atmosphere  felt 
uncomfortably  warm.  Apparently  he  had  forgotten  to 
open  his  windows  the  night  before,  and  that  explained 
the  unpleasant  thumping  feeling  in  his  head,  and  his 
general  lassitude. 

He  put  out  his  hand  with  the  intention  of  getting  up 
and  opening  a  window,  and  it  touched  a  cold  polished 
surface — a  letter.  Dick  wondered  who  could  have  been 
writing  to  him.  He  closed  his  hand  over  the  letter 
while  he  opened  the  window,  and  let  in  a  burst  of  sun- 
shine and  the  near  sound  of  the  London  traffic,  which 
had  hummed  in  his  head  before  as  from  a  distance. 
There  was  no  doubt  that  he  had  a  horrid  headache. 
It  kept  VtJTn  from  thinking  coherently  over  the  events 

183 


184  DICK   PENTREATH 

of  the  night  before.  He  got  into  bed  again,  and  lay 
with  closed  eyes  for  a  few  minutes  before  he  thought  of 
reading  his  letter. 

As  soon  as  he  had  looked  at  it,  however,  he  got  up 
on  his  elbow  and  turned  towards  the  light  the  better  to 
read  it.  He  felt  a  vague  surprise  that  Dorothea  should 
have  written  to  him  ;  they  had  met  so  lately,  were  to 
meet  so  soon  again.  But  he  could  not  have  too  many 
letters  from  Dorothea.  He  had  grumbled  because  they 
had  seen  each  other  so  often  that  there  had  been  no  occa- 
sion for  letters.  Dorothea  had  let  a  little  more  warmth 
creep  into  the  one  or  two  letters  she  had  sent  him  than 
had  been  in  her  manner  when  they  were  together,  for 
after  that  first  day  the  slight  chilliness,  which  he  could 
not  have  wished  away  from  her,  had  returned  and  kept 
his  ardour  at  a  distance.  So  now  the  sight  of  her  hand- 
writing awoke  in  him  an  anticipation  of  delight.  He 
kissed  the  flap  of  the  envelope  before  he  tore  it  through  ; 
he  unfolded  the  letter  with  a  luxurious  pleasure  in 
handling  it ;  it  smelt  of  fresh  lavender,  as  her  belongings 
always  did.  If  he  could  only  put  his  head  on  her  soft 
breast,  he  said  to  himself,  the  wretched  throbbing  and 
swaying  in  it  would  pass  away. 

He  turned  the  page  to  the  light  to  read  it.  Then  he 
became  suddenly  quiet.  The  dizziness  of  his  headache 
had  gone  by,  forgotten.  He  could  see  clearly  enough 
now.  Dorothea's  writing  was  of  the  large,  firm, 


THE   BLOW   FALLS  185 

graceful  kind,  common  to  many  educated  English 
women.  The  words  came  out  of  the  smooth  satiny 
page  in  a  black  phalanx,  and  struck  him  in  the  heart. 

"St  Aldate's  Rectory, 

"June  18th,  Midnight. 

"After  the  events  of  to-night  I  shall  never  marry 
you.  To-night  you  filled  me  with  horror  and  disgust, 
and  I  cannot  think  coherently.  I  am  only  glad  that  a 
marriage  between  us  was  not  yet  accomplished,  for  I  do 
not  know  what  I  should  have  done.  To-morrow  I  will 
send  back  your  letters  and  presents,  and  I  will  try  to 
forget,  as  I  hope  you  will  forget,  what  has  happened 
between  us.  You  could  never  have  loved  me,  or  you 
would  not  have  come  to  me  in  such  a  state.  Do  not 
try  to  see  me  to  alter  my  decision,  for  that  would  be 
intolerable,  and  I  shall  never  alter.  I  shall  go  away 
to-morrow  morning,  so  there  will  be  no  use  in  trying  to 
see  me.  Good-bye. 

"DOROTHEA  SEMPLE." 

Perhaps  the  hardness  and  cruelty  of  the  letter  had 
reached  through  the  perturbation  in  the  mind  of  the 
writer,  for  over-leaf  she  had  written : 

"  If  you  ever  cared  for  me  at  all,  try  to  be  a  good 
man." 

But  it  was  a  postscript  that  Dick  did  not  discover 
for  many  a  year. 


186  DICK   PENTREATH 

He  lay  for  some  time  trembling  like  a  whipped  dog, 
with  the  letter  in  his  hand.  Oddly  enough  he  had  a 
memory  of  the  flogging  he  had  given  Sancho  when  the 
dog  had  bitten  Susan ;  but  that  was  in  some  far-away 
world  before  he  had  known  Dorothea.  Incredible  that 
there  could  have  been  a  time  in  which  she  had  not  filled 
all  his  thoughts  !  Little  pieces  of  what  had  happened 
the  night  before  began  to  come  out  of  the  dimness  of 
his  mind.  He  had  been  a  brute  and  a  fool ;  he  sickened 
as  the  vision  returned  to  him  of  the  ices  and  the  coffee 
on  the  floor  of  the  box,  the  man  staring  at  him  in  con- 
sternation, Dorothea  with  the  pink  and  brown  stuff 
running  down  her  frock.  He  believed  he  had  laughed, 
for  he  remembered  the  sudden  sobering  effect  of  her 
glance.  Good  heavens,  was  any  man  ever  such  a  brute 
and  a  fool  ?  And  now  he  had  lost  her.  For  what  ?  He 
had  not  gained  even  the  mess  of  pottage  for  which  some 
men  barter  their  hearts  and  souls,  for  there  was  no 
exhilaration  for  him  in  wine ;  he  had  never  cared  for  it 
nor  desired  it.  And  now  Dorothea  was  gone,  the  warm, 
living  Dorothea  he  had  held  in  his  arms,  who  would 
have  been  his  wife  in  a  few  hours ;  and  instead  there 
was  only  a  cold  white  Justice  with  the  scales. 

Something  furious  stirred  in  him,  relieving  him  for  a 
moment  of  the  deadly  pressure  of  a  heavy  heart  that  had 
somehow  fallen  from  its  proper  place,  something  furious, 
the  rage  of  the  creature  robbed  of  its  mate.  For  a 


THE  BLOW  PALLS  187 

moment  he  had  it  in  him  to  tear  and  rend  things  with 
his  hands  and  teeth,  to  abandon  himself  to  a  blind, 
insensate,  brutal  fury.  For  a  moment  he  thought  that 
if  Dorothea  could  not  be  his  it  would  be  sweet  to  kill 
her,  so  that  she  should  never  be  another  man's.  He  got 
up  and  stood  trembling  in  the  midst  of  the  room,  pale 
and  disordered,  his  eyes  bloodshot.  Then  some  one 
knocked  at  his  door,  and  the  frenzy  died  out  of  his 
face,  while  he  controlled  himself  to  answer  properly. 
Yes,  he  would  be  ready  for  breakfast  in  half  an  hour, 
thank  you. 

He  took  his  cold  bath  and  dressed  himself  with 
mechanical  carefulness.  The  wild  beast  was  in  check 
now.  As  he  went  down  the  broad  staircase  where  the 
people  were  passing  up  and  down  to  the  hotel  dining- 
room,  no  one  would  have  suspected  what  lay  behind 
that  well-dressed,  gracious  appearance.  He  had  even  a 
rose  in  the  lapel  of  his  coat,  which  he  had  taken  from 
some  flowers  on  his  dressing-table.  His  sleek,  damp 
head  shone  like  the  coat  of  a  water- dog  after  it  has  been 
in  the  river.  To  a  careless  observer  there  was  no  differ- 
ence between  this  Dick  and  the  Dick  of  yesterday ;  but 
the  young  Swiss  waiter,  on  whom  Dick's  happiness  had 
overflowed  of  late,  dimly  apprehended  something  wrong 
and  was  sorry. 

He  drew  Dick's  attention  to  the  devilled  kidneys, 
the  eggs  en  papillate,  the  game  pate.  Dick  ate 


188  DICK  PENTREATH 

mechanically  whatever  was  offered  to  him,  and  drank 
many  cups  of  tea,  unaware  of  the  sympathetic  glances. 

He  had  slept  round  the  clock.  Breakfast  was  long 
done  and  over,  and  they  were  setting  out  the  little 
tables  for  lunch.  Presently  people  began  to  seat  them- 
selves at  the  tables,  people  with  whom  Dick  had  a 
nodding  acquaintance  or  something  better. 

He  set  up  The  Times  as  a  barrier  between  him  and 
the  friendly  or  indifferent  eyes.  He  could  not  endure 
the  eyes.  A  pretty,  vivacious  American  girl,  with 
whom  he  had  made  friends,  had  seated  herself  at  a  table 
near  him.  Dick  heard  her  say  that  she  would  try  the 
clam  soup  although  she  had  never  got  it  fit  to  eat 
outside  America,  and  withdrew  further  into  his  corner. 
He  wished  he  had  escaped  before  they  all  came  in. 
He  knew  that  presently  he  would  have  to  walk  the 
length  of  the  room,  running  the  gauntlet  of  all  those 
eyes;  and  he  would  as  soon  have  had  the  contact  of 
boiling  lead  with  his  naked  flesh. 

He  drew  the  paper  closer,  not  seeing  a  word  of  it. 
The  talk  was  now  in  full  swing  at  all  the  tables  and 
the  sound  was  a  torture  to  him.  He  had  a  vision  of  a 
spot  he  remembered  in  Nuthurst  Woods,  the  great  belt 
of  woods  belonging  to  the  Duke  of  Lydford,  through 
which  it  was  possible  to  take  a  short  cut  on  one's  way 
from  Greenheys  station.  The  woods  were  full  of  dim 
green  avenues,  mere  gamekeepers'  tracks,  that  looked 


THE  BLOW   FALLS  189 

as  though  at  some  date  the  good  God  who  made  the 
trees  had  laid  them  out  for  a  sylvan  city.  He  re- 
membered the  edge  of  the  wood  where  the  path  ran, 
and  there  was  a  double  hedge  between  the  wood  and 
Farmer  Pettifer's  wheat-field. 

There  were  places  where  one  could  look  through 
the  hedge,  through  little  openings  near  the  ground  into 
woodland  glades  and  arcades.  Since  one  had  to  kneel 
on  the  ground  to  wriggle  through  these  openings,  it 
followed  that  the  place  was  sacred  even  from  the  game- 
keepers. He  remembered  when  he  was  a  boy  tracking 
a  little  path,  a  rabbit-run  perhaps,  to  a  glade  which 
was  green  and  soft  to  the  foot  except  in  very  dry 
weather.  Just  midway  of  the  glade  a  little  spring 
bubbled  up  under  the  fronds  of  hart's-tongue  ferns ;  and 
on  the  hottest  day  the  air  smelt  deliciously  of  a  world 
refreshed. 

If  he  could  only  be  there,  away  from  eyes!  He 
thought  of  the  place  with  no  sense  of  comfort.  There 
was  no  comfort  in  the  world  for  the  heart  that  Dorothea 
had  killed — nay,  not  killed,  for  that  had  been  gentler, — 
wounded  to  death  and  left  to  drag  out  its  agonized 
hours.  But  to  be  free  from  eyes !  There  at  least  he 
would  have  some  hours  of  respite.  He  could  be  alone 
with  the  suffering  which,  by  turns,  was  dull  and  in- 
tolerably great. 

He  looked  at   the  clock  at  the  other  end  of  the 


190  DICK  PENTBEATH 

room;  it  was  two  o'clock.  There  was  a  train  for 
Greenheys  at  two  thirty-five,  a  train  by  which  few 
Greenheys  folk  travelled.  Greenheys  people,  gentle 
and  simple  alike,  chose  Friday  for  their  going- to-town 
day  because  it  was  a  day  of  reduced  fares,  and  took  the 
full  value  from  the  ticket,  spending  the  whole  day  in 
London. 

He  pushed  away  his  plate  and  laid  down  the  news- 
paper. With  an  effort  he  steeled  himself  to  walk 
unconcernedly  up  the  room.  He  thought  the  thing 
that  had  happened  to  him  must  be  in  his  face ;  but,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  most  of  those  who  bowed  and  smiled 
as  he  passed  noticed  nothing.  Only  Miss  Miranda 
Pawle  from  Wisconsin  County  remarked  to  her  Momma 
that  something  had  gone  wrong  with  Dick,  and  that  if 
that  girl  he  was  going  to  marry  had  been  acting  mean 
to  him  she  must  be  a  downright  wretch.  If  Dick  had 
only  known,  Miss  Pawle  would  not  have  objected  to 
being  his  comforter ;  but  then,  if  it  had  been  possible 
for  Dick  to  take  comfort  there  would  have  been  no  lack 
of  feminine  consolation.  Only,  as  it  happened,  there 
was  no  comfort  for  Dick. 

No  one  to  whom  he  need  speak  travelled  by  the  two 
thirty-five,  and  he  found  a  quiet  corner  seat  away  from 
the  door  where  he  could  entrench  himself  behind  a  news- 
paper. He  needed  the  defence.  His  face  had  grown 
haggard  during  the  hours  since  he  had  received  Dorothea's 


THE   BLOW   PALLS  191 

letter,  and  now  he  let  it  fall  into  its  sudden  lines; 
miserable  fires  burned  in  the  depths  of  his  eyes.  Luckily 
after  the  early  part  of  the  journey  he  had  but  one 
fellow-traveller,  an  elderly  gentleman  who  fell  asleep, 
so  that  it  was  possible  for  Dick  to  drop  his  chin  on  his 
breast  and  stare  wretchedly  before  him  unobserved. 

His  thoughts  were  beginning  to  assume  a  certain 
coherence.  That  dreadful  hammer- beating  in  his  brain 
which  kept  saying  over  and  over  again,  "Dorothea 
hates  you:  Dorothea  hates  you,"  was  growing  duller. 
The  suddenness  of  the  blow  had  completely  upset  his 
mental  balance.  His  Good  and  his  Bad  Angels  were 
whispering  in  his  ears.  The  Bad  Angel's  voice  he  heard 
distinctly  and  listened  to  greedily.  Why  live  in  a 
world  without  Dorothea,  a  world  in  which  her  hatred 
and  contempt  seared  him  like  a  brand  in  his  flesh,  a 
world  with  all  those  eyes  looking  at  him  ?  It  was  very 
easy  to  procure  an  anodyne  against  his  intolerable  suffer- 
ing, the  easiest  thing  in  the  world.  Certain  other 
suggestions  that  the  Bad  Angel  would  have  made  to 
most  men  in  Dick's  position  were  of  no  use  here.  His 
anodyne  did  not  lie  that  way.  He  could  not  fall  from 
Dorothea's  arms  to  depths  of  disgrace.  No ;  sleep  was 
best,  sleep  was  infinitely  comforting  and  comfortable, 
sleep  for  ever,  away  from  all  those  eyes  and  Dorothea's 
loathing.  Perhaps  she  would  be  sorry  and  pity  him 
when  he  had  expiated  his  folly. 


192  DICK   PENTKEATH 

The  Good  Angel  strove  to  reach  him  with  her 
whispers,  but  he  had  no  ears  for  them,  and  she  covered 
her  face  with  her  wings  and  wept.  She  had  eyes  like 
Dick's  mother,  and  the  immortal  peace  of  them  was 
sadly  troubled,  but  while  she  hid  her  face  in  her  wings 
she  prayed.  If  poor  Dick  had  only  turned  to  her 
she  had  dews  and  balms  of  consolation,  but  for  the 
moment  he  rested  his  sick  head  on  the  Dark  Angel's 
breast. 

When  the  train  drew  up  at  Greenheys,  he  struck 
away  along  the  railway  track  to  escape  the  old  gaffers 
and  gammers  who  had  been  to  the  nearest  town  to  sell 
their  live  stock  or  their  butter  and  eggs.  They  would 
expect  Master  Dick  to  talk  to  them  and  he  could  not 
do  it.  That  good  fellow,  the  station-master,  who,  as 
often  as  not  clicked  the  tickets  with  his  youngest  child 
on  his  shoulder,  would  expect  the  customary  greetings 
and  inquiries  from  Mr.  Pentreath.  Dick  turned  away 
from  all  the  innocent  friendliness,  and  strode  on  with 
his  bag  in  his  hand,  along  the  little  track  in  the  grass 
of  the  flowering  bank  through  which  the  railway  cutting 
was  made. 

Once  an  express  train  thundered  past  him  with  a 
great  wind  which  seemed  to  draw  him  towards  it. 
Supposing  he  were  to  do  it  now,  before  anybody  knew, 
it  might  pass  for  accident !  But,  no,  there  was  some- 
thing he  wanted  to  do  first.  Perhaps  he  might  come 


THE   BLOW   FALLS  193 

back  here  to-morrow  and  let  the  thing  happen  easily 
and  naturally.  But  he  must  set  his  house  in  order 
first ;  there  was  something  he  wanted  to  do,  that  might 
make  Dorothea  think  more  kindly  of  him  afterwards. 
As  he  waited  for  the  train  to  rush  by  the  Angel  with 
his  mother's  eyes  held  her  breath  and  sent  her  heart 
towards  God. 

Presently  he  struck  out  across  the  fields  by  a  field 
path  to  the  wood.  He  had  no  eyes  for  the  full  summer 
glory  on  grass  and  tree.  But  it  was  comfortable  to  be 
away  from  the  eyes,  although  presently  he  must  return 
to  them. 

He  came  out  at  last  by  the  farmer's  field  of  barley 
tinkling  all  its  cymbals  as  the  summer  wind  touched 
it.  He  looked  across  at  the  hill  in  its  lavender  summer 
mists,  with  here  and  there  a  patch  of  lighter  colour — 
brown  on  the  lower  slopes,  where  meadows  were  ripen- 
ing, yellow  earth  on  the  higher,  where  the  cliff  had 
fallen  away. 

Out  of  sight,  on  the  top  of  the  hill  beyond  the  firs 
and  the  pine  trees,  was  the  churchyard  where  the 
Pentreaths  were  buried.  It  looked  over  seven  counties. 
Nothing  could  be  sweeter  than  its  aspect.  An  odd 
memory  came  to  him  of  a  grave  with  a  marble  cross 
above  it,  the  inscription  on  which  had  always  touched 
him.  "  The  beloved  young  wife  of  Henry  Considine  in 
the  flower  of  her  youth:  and  her  precious  babe."  If 

o 


194  DICK   PENTREATH 

Dorothea  had  left  him  so,  why  he  could  have  borne  it 
with  the  thought  of  going  to  her  some  day.  Now  she 
would  never  be  his  wife  and  the  mother  of  his  children. 
She  hated  him.  The  thought  of  her  hatred  was  like  a 
cold  madness  to  him,  destroying  all  possible  sweetness 
for  all  the  worlds. 

As  he  looked  he  saw  the  smoke  rise  from  the 
chimneys  of  The  Place,  the  house  of  his  old  friends, 
the  Misses  Marshbanks.  At  that  moment  Lady  Stella 
and  Mabel  Kingscote  were  walking  up  the  hilly  road, 
under  the  overhanging  boughs  of  the  Spanish  chestnuts, 
talking  of  Dick's  wedding-day.  Mabel  was  able  to 
talk  of  it  now  without  a  catch  in  her  breath ;  and  as 
for  Lady  Stella,  why  to  her  it  sufficed  that  Dick  was 
happy  and  was  going  to  be  safe. 

He  made  his  way  through  the  double-hedge  into 
the  wood  on  his  hands  and  knees,  and  as  he  stood  up- 
right brushed  the  moss  and  twigs  from  his  knees  with 
an  habitual  carefulness.  Seeing  that  he  was  not  going 
to  have  any  use  for  clothes  in  a  few  hours'  time,  the 
precaution  struck  him  as  unnecessary. 

Except  for  the  little  paths  here  and  there,  this  part 
of  the  wood  was  covered  with  a  dense  undergrowth 
which  ensured  privacy.  He  found  the  glade  he  sought. 
The  trees,  delicate  and  airy,  met  high  above  it,  and 
made  it  green  and  golden  within  their  leaves.  The  moss 
was  velvety  soft  and  richly  green.  In  the  middle  of 


THE   BLOW    FALLS  195 

the  glade  the  ground  fell  away,  making  a  natural  basin 
for  the  little  spring.  Sharp  and  sweet  the  smell  of  the 
green  things  with  their  feet  in  the  water  came  to  his 
nostrils.  When  last  he  had  been  there  he  had  never 
seen  Dorothea  and  his  life  had  contented  him. 

He  flung  himself  down  under  the  trees  where  the 
ground  was  not  wet  and  laid  his  face  on  his  arms.  He 
felt  a  great  longing  that  he  might  never  leave  the  dim, 
cool  place  for  the  world  and  the  glare  and  the  people 
who  would  expect  to  have  their  curiosity  satisfied ;  and 
the  eyes,  for  ever  the  eyes,  that  would  look  at  him.  He 
lay  so  still  that  the  mother  thrush  came  and  hopped 
about  him  looking  for  worms  and  insects  in  the  grass 
and  moss.  The  rabbits  who  had  scurried  before  his 
steps  came  back  and  played  in  the  glade. 

After  a  time  he  fell  into  a  sleep,  an  unhappy  sleep, 
in  which  his  suffering  was  still  with  him,  more  un- 
alleviated,  if  that  were  possible,  than  any  suffering  with 
the  senses  awake. 

In  his  sleep  he  turned  on  his  back  and  moaned  and 
tossed  uneasily.  The  sun  went  down  the  western  sky 
while  he  slept  and  the  world  outside  the  glade  turned 
cool.  Something  of  comfort  came  into  the  dreams  of 
the  sleeper  as  though  a  healing  touch  had  been  laid 
upon  his  wounds.  The  birds  were  singing  more  sweetly 
down  the  long  arcades  of  the  woods,  and  the  rabbits 
sat  by  their  burrows  washing  their  innocent  faces.  But 


196  DICK   PENTREATH 

before  that  consolation  stole  into  Dick's  dreams  they 
had  scurried  underground. 

He  awoke  suddenly  to  find  Sancho  licking  his  face, 
all  in  a  joyous  tremble.  Somehow  in  his  lonesome 
wanderings  he  had  come  upon  his  master's  track  and 
followed  it  and  found  him.  Dick  sat  up  and  took  the 
dog's  head  in  his  arms.  He  hid  his  face  against  the 
silky  forehead.  So  it  was  Sancho  who  had  brought 
him  that  sense  of  consolation  in  his  dreams  which  had 
fled  now  leaving  him  in  suffering  as  before. 

"  Dear  old  Sancho !  Kind  dog ! "  he  sighed,  clasping 
the  head  to  him ;  and  Sancho  sighed  in  recognition,  in 
love,  and  in  trouble ;  for  from  the  first  moment  of  his 
discovering  him  Sancho  had  no  doubt  that  something 
had  gone  terribly  wrong  with  the  master. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

IN  THE  BRIDE'S  ROOM 

THEY  went  back  to  Oakhurst  in  the  evening  coolness 
and  dews.  They  entered  the  house  by  the  garden  way, 
meeting  no  one,  and  Dick  sat  down  at  his  writing-table 
and  drummed  restlessly  with  his  fingers  while  he  stared 
before  him. 

Suddenly  he  drew  out  his  watch  and  looked  at  it. 
It  was  a  quarter  to  seven.  At  half-past,  the  train 
came  in  by  which  he  was  expected  to  return. 

He  rang  the  bell,  and  when  a  servant  came  in 
answer  he  said  without  turning  to  look  at  her  that 
the  dog-cart  need  not  be  sent,  since  he  had  come  by  an 
earlier  train.  He  made  a  pretence  of  being  immensely 
busy  while  he  spoke,  sitting  with  his  back  to  her,  his 
hands  moving  among  the  papers.  But  the  woman  was 
not  deceived.  She  had  not  known  Dick  Pentreath 
from  childhood  to  be  deceived  now. 

She  went  with  her  story  to  Mrs.  Maidment  of  how 
the  master  had  come  in  and  was  in  the  library,  and 

197 


198  DICK  PENTREATH 

something  was  wrong  with  him.  She,  Eliza,  was  quite 
sure  of  it,  and  Sancho  was  lying  on  the  rug,  sighing  fit 
to  break  your  heart. 

"Kubbish,  Eliza,  woman!"  Mrs.  Maidment  answered. 
"  Something  wrong  with  the  master !  Why,  what 
would  happen  to  him  and  him  within  two  days  of 
his  wedding?  You  was  always  one  for  scenting 
misfortune." 

"I've  heard  of  weddings  that  didn't  come  off," 
Eliza  said,  with  a  tearful  sniff,  too  disturbed  herself  to 
resent  Mrs.  Maidment's  sharpness,  which  she  knew  to 
be  the  sharpness  of  fear. 

The  faithful  woman  scurried  off  to  the  library  in 
terror  for  her  darling,  assuring  herself  as  she  went  that 
she  had  no  patience  with  Eliza  Fladgate,  so  she  hadn't ; 
a  silly  woman  that  never  could  forget  she'd  been  crossed 
in  love,  and  so  much  the  better  for  her,  since  her  swain 
had  developed  a  homicidal  mania  of  which  his  wife 
was  the  object  whenever  he  had  drunk  a  few  quarts  of 
beer  at  the  Grey  Goose. 

But  the  minute  she  opened  the  door,  she,  too,  felt 
the  presence  of  the  calamity  in  the  room.  The  mournful 
eye  which  Sancho  turned  on  her  without  moving  his 
nose  from  his  paws  was  enough.  And,  looking  eagerly 
at  the  master  where  he  sat  leaning  over  his  table,  she 
had  an  idea  that  the  shoulders  had  become  bowed  as 
though  they  had  taken  on  an  intolerable  burden  during 


IN  THE   BRIDE'S  ROOM  199 

the  hours  since  he  had  gone  out  so  gaily,  calling  back 
instructions  to  her  as  he  went. 

She  came  up  beside  him,  and  stood  with  one  hand 
leaning  on  the  edge  of  the  table. 

"  You  will  dine  at  eight,  as  usual,  sir  ? "  she  said, 
not  knowing  how  to  explain  her  presence. 

After  that  one  glance  she  averted  her  gaze  and 
looked  out  through  a  window,  where  the  long  shadows 
lay  velvety  on  the  lawn,  and  the  roses  were  like  little 
lamps  and  fires  against  the  green  gloom. 

She  knew  her  place  too  well  to  take  Dick's  head  to 
her  faithful  old  breast.  It  would  have  been  contrary 
to  all  her  canons  of  behaviour  to  have  shown  by  a 
quiver  of  the  eyelid  that  she  was  conscious  of  any 
trouble ;  but  her  heart  had  sunk,  as  she  herself  expressed 
it,  to  her  boots,  on  looking  at  the  master's  face. 

"  At  eight,  if  you  please,"  said  Dick. 

Mrs.  Maidment  would  have  gone  then,  but  he  called 
her  back. 

"  There  will  be  no  wedding,"  he  said,  with  a  rigid 
face. 

"  Yes,  sir  ? " 

She  hesitated  an  instant.  Then  she  said  in  a  low 
voice — 

"  There  is  nothing  wrong  with — with — the  young 
lady,  sir  ? " 

"  Nothing  at  all ;  but  there  will  be  no  wedding." 


200  DICK   PENTRBATH 

Mrs.  Maidment  went  away  in  a  desolation  only 
lightened  by  her  anger  against  Dorothea. 

"  It  did  ought  to  have  been  Lady  Stella,"  she  said. 
"  I  always  said  it  did  ought  to  have  been  Lady  Stella. 
There  would  have  been  no  trouble  for  the  master  then." 

She  herself  waited  on  Dick  at  dinner,  brushing  aside 
Eliza  Fladgate  whose  business  it  was.  She  did  not 
wait  in  the  room  but  left  him  to  his  solitary  meal, 
listening  outside  the  door  in  the  intervals  till  she  judged 
she  might  return. 

Sancho  sat  by  his  master's  knee  with  his  chin  rest- 
ing upon  it.  As  a  rule  Sancho  was  bold,  lifting  his 
great  soft  paw  to  pull  down  Dick's  arm  if  he  thought 
that  he  was  being  neglected.  But  this  evening  he  took 
no  liberties,  only  sat  quietly  with  his  head  on  the 
master's  knee  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  beloved  face, 
in  great  trouble. 

"  I  let  him  be,"  said  Mrs.  Maidment  to  the  other 
servants,  who  were  in  a  flutter  of  alarm  for  the  master's 
sake.  "  His  dog  is  company  for  him  to-night.  But  as 
sure  as  ever  morning  comes,  I'll  take  a  liberty  which 
never  I  thought  for  to  take,  though  knowing  my  place. 
I'll  send  for  Lady  Stella.  She's  been  elder  sister  to 
him  for  many  a  year,  and  if  she  can't  comfort  him,  then 
I  don't  know  who  can.  There,  I  never  could  abide 
new  people  coming  in.  Five  and  forty  years  I've  been 
at  Oakhurst,  and  new  faces  I  can't  abide.  And  to 


IN  THE  BRIDE'S  ROOM  201 

think  of  the  clean  sweeps  we  have  made,  as  hardly  I 
know  the  old  house,  and  all,  as  you  may  say,  Eliza 
Fladgate,  for  nothing." 

Somewhere  at  the  back  of  the  old  servant's  kind 
simple  mind  there  lurked  a  thought  that  in  his  trouble 
the  master's  heart  might  turn  to  Lady  Stella ;  but  this 
she  shared  with  none. 

"  And  as  for  'er,  Eliza  Fladgate,"  she  said,  "  not  if 
you  was  to  go  on  your  bended  knees  would  I  ever 
forgive  *er." 

They  went  to  bed  with  heavy  hearts,  leaving  the 
master  in  the  library,  with  Sancho  for  his  only  com- 
panion. As  they  crept  past  the  library  door  silently, 
as  though  some  one  dead  lay  behind  it,  there  was  not  a 
sound. 

"Supposing,"  thought  Mrs.  Maidment  sitting  bolt 
upright  in  bed  about  twelve  of  the  clock,  "  as  how  he 
was  to  do  himself  a  harm  !  How  ever  should  I  face  his 
sainted  mother  ?  '  Look  after  Master  Dick,  Maidie/ 
she  said  to  me,  not  three  days  before  she  was  taken. 
And  well  I  looked  after  him,  the  lamb,  that  was  ever 
falling  from  trees  or  ducking  of  hisself  in  the  pond,  yet 
never  anything  but  boyish  tricks  and  mischief,  and 
keeping  frogs  in  his  washing- basin  and  white  mice 
under  his  bed.  There  never  was  any  badness  in  Master 
Dick,  though  never  out  of  mischief." 

She  put  a  shawl  around  her,  and  her  feet  in  her 


202  DICK   PENTKEATH 

slippers,  and  stole  downstairs  through  the  silent  house. 
At  the  library  door  she  bent  her  ear  to  the  keyhole  to 
listen.  After  a  moment  or  two  of  suspense  she  heard 
Dick  cross  the  room  and  stole  away  somewhat  reassured. 

If  she  could  only  have  looked  inside  the  room  she 
would  not  have  had  that  reassurance.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  Dick  had  crossed  the  room  to  select  a  gun  from 
the  rack.  On  the  table  lay  a  document  with  the  ink 
still  wet.  It  was  inscribed,  "  The  Last  Will  and  Testa- 
ment of  Eichard  Pentreath,"  in  Dick's  round  schoolboy 
handwriting,  with  little  flourishes  to  the  capital  letters. 
Having  selected  the  gun  he  sat  down  with  it  in  his 
hand  and  took  up  the  document.  He  read  it  over 
anxiously  once  more.  He  had  heard  that  men  who 
made  their  own  wills  often  handed  over  their  money  to 
the  lawyers,  but  he  had  tried  to  remember  the  terms  of 
his  father's  will  and  to  adhere  to  its  form. 

"  All  of  which  I  die  possessed,  after  payment  of  my 
lawful  debts,"  he  read  aloud,  "  I  leave  unreservedly  to 
Dorothea  Semple,  eldest  daughter  of  the  Eev.  Algernon 
Semple,  of  St.  Aldate's  Vicarage,  Whitechapel,  London, 
only  charged  with  certain  bequests  to  my  old  servants, 
as  hereinafter  stated." 

"  I  don't  think  they  can  mistake  the  intention,"  he 
said  aloud. 

He  laid  the  gun  aside  while  he  put  the  will  in  an 
envelope  and  addressed  it  to  the  firm  of  city  solicitors 


IN  THE  BRIDE'S  ROOM  203 

who  had  always  done  the  modest  law- work  of  his  family. 
Then  he  placed  it  face  upward  in  the  middle  of  the 
table,  where  it  could  not  escape  observation. 

Afterwards  he  took  his  cheque-book  from  his  pocket 
and  wrote  a  number  of  cheques,  placing  them  in 
envelopes  and  addressing  them.  He  did  not  want 
Dorothea  to  have  more  trouble  than  he  could  help  in 
paying  his  debts.  He  had  a  curious  smile  on  his  face 
as  he  wrote  the  cheque  for  the  firm  of  decorators  who 
had  done  up  the  house  which  happened  to  be  the  last 
in  his  cheque-book.  He  was  to  have  provided  himself 
with  a  new  cheque-book  on  the  day  that  had  already 
begun,  for  the  expenses  of  the  wedding  and  the  wedding 
journey. 

By  the  time  he  had  finished  the  birds  had  begun  to 
twitter  in  the  dark  garden  outside.  He  had  transacted 
his  last  business  on  earth  with  methodical  completeness. 
It  had  been  always  something  of  a  pain  to  him  to  write 
and  his  spelling  had  not  been  faultless,  but  over  this 
last  task  he  had  tried  to  collect  his  senses  through  all 
the  painful  throbbing  of  his  head  so  that  things  should 
be  done  in  order  and  nothing  forgotten.  No  one 
watching  him  would  have  suspected  the  madness  that 
was  upon  him,  in  which  everything  was  forgotten  only 
the  desire  to  escape  from  intolerable  suffering. 

He  took  up  his  gun  when  he  had  finished  and  loaded 
it.  Then  he  hunted  for  a  piece  of  string;  the  old 


204  DICK  PENTREATH 

servants  had  tidy  ways,  and  he  had  to  hunt  about  for  a 
time  before  he  found  the  ball  of  loose  ends  for  which  he 
sought.  He  selected  a  piece  of  string  and  attached  it  in 
a  loop  to  the  trigger  of  the  gun,  which  he  had  set  at  full 
cock.  Then  he  sat  down  in  the  chair  he  had  risen  from, 
and  resting  the  gun  on  the  ground,  the  muzzle  of  it 
beneath  his  chin,  he  was  about  to  insert  his  foot  within 
the  loop. 

But  he  had  another  thought.  He  had  not  observed 
Sancho,  who  had  started  to  his  feet,  quivering  from  head 
to  foot,  and  apparently  about  to  spring  on  him.  As  he 
lifted  his  eyes  in  a  half-conscious  farewell  to  the  familiar 
things  about  him  his  eye  caught  his  mother's  picture. 

"Not  here,"  he  muttered,  "with  her  eyes  looking 
down  at  me.  Not  here." 

The  dog  sighed  an  immense  relief  as  his  master 
stood  up  with  the  gun  in  his  hand.  He  followed  him 
to  the  door.  Outside  the  library  the  dawn  was  grey  in 
the  house.  As  Dick  came  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  he 
put  off  his  shoes  so  that  he  should  not  disturb  the 
sleeping  servants.  But,  as  he  creaked  gently  from  step 
to  step,  old  Maidment,  keeping  her  sleepless  vigil,  heard 
him  and  thanked  God  that  he  was  going  to  bed.  There 
was  something  natural  and  normal  in  that.  If  but  the 
night  were  tided  over,  to-morrow  all  would  be  well. 
Lady  Stella  would  come  and  the  master  would  be  per- 
suaded to  go  away  and  forget  in  time. 


IN   THE   BRIDE'S   ROOM  205 

The  stockinged  feet  went  on  past  her  door,  followed 
by  the  dog's  gentle  padding.  But  Dick  did  not  turn 
aside  into  the  narrow  little  bedroom  of  his  bachelor 
days,  which  he  had  never  exchanged  for  a  better  since 
the  time  he  had  had  it  as  a  small  boy.  He  went  on  to 
the  room  which  had  been  prepared  for  the  bride. 

It  was  grey  in  the  grey  dawn.  The  fresh  gaiety 
of  its  colouring  did  not  reveal  itself  in  the  all-per- 
vading grey.  Putting  down  his  gun  on  the  four-poster 
bed,  Dick  found  a  match  and  lit  the  candles  on  the 
dressing-table.  They  were  new  candles,  set  ready  for 
the  bride,  and  he  had  some  difficulty  in  lighting  the 
wick  of  one.  While  he  did  it  Sancho  stood  in  the 
background  watching  the  master  with  a  face  full  of 
anxiety. 

The  candles  sputtered  a  bit  and  then  shot  up  into 
clear  flames,  revealing  the  prettiness  of  the  room.  It 
was  rosy  and  white,  with  a  hint  of  blue  ribbons  trail- 
ing through  the  rose  and  white.  The  eminent  firm  of 
decorators  had  worked  up  to  the  old  chintz.  The  carpet 
was  white,  with  a  pattern  of  rose  wreaths  tied  with  blue 
ribbons.  The  upper  part  of  the  walls  above  the  white 
panelling  had  been  filled  in  with  chintz,  as  nearly  as  pos- 
sible like  the  old.  The  gaiety  made  a  delightful  back- 
ground for  the  spindle-legged  Sheraton  furniture.  The 
oval  glass  on  the  toilet-table,  the  long  oval  swing  mirror, 
the  gilt-framed  concave  glass  on  the  wall,  reflected  a 


206  DICK  PENTREATH 

room  that  might  have  belonged  to  one  of  the  Dresden 
china  nymphs  on  the  mantel-shelf.  Dorothea's  book- 
shelf, Dorothea's  pictures,  would  have  given  it  a  touch 
of  sweet  seriousness. 

Looking  about  him,  the  fires  in  Dick's  eyes  grew 
fiercer.  He  uttered  a  short,  sharp  groan  which  brought 
the  dog  trembling  to  his  side.  Then,  with  the  gun  in 
his  hand,  he  sat  down  upon  the  pink  and  white  bed. 
For  a  second  or  two  he  fumbled  with  the  loop  attached 
to  the  trigger,  passing  it  carefully  over  his  foot.  Then 
he  lay  down  full  length  and  closed  his  eyes. 

At  this  moment  Sancho,  who  had  been  watching 
him  with  growing  apprehension,  suddenly  sprang  upon 
his  master's  breast  and  began  licking  his  face  furiously. 
Luckily  for  Dick,  or  perhaps  for  Sancho,  Dick  had 
made  the  loop  a  large  one,  and  though  his  foot  stirred 
in  it,  it  did  not  draw  the  trigger.  For  a  second  or  two 
he  submitted  to  the  dog's  wild  caresses.  Then  he  sat 
upright  carefully  and  removed  the  loop  from  his  foot, 
laying  the  gun  down  beside  him. 

"I  had  forgotten  you,  old  fellow,"  he  said  to  the 
dog ;  "  to  be  sure  it  would  have  broken  your  heart." 

He  got  up  and  blew  out  the  candles  and  drew  the 
blind  higher.  Out  on  the  lawn  the  bushes  and  shrubs, 
the  trees  and  arbours,  were  beginning  to  come  out  of 
the  grey  mistiness.  There  were  long  quivering  lines  of 
light  in  the  eastern  sky  as  though  the  sky  trembled. 


IN  THE  BRIDE'S  ROOM  207 

"There  is  a  heavy  dew,"  he  said  to  himself;  "it  is 
going  to  be  another  hot  day." 

Then  he  went  and  smoothed  out  the  bed  where  he 
had  disordered  it.  He  went  downstairs  more  stealthily 
than  he  had  come,  and  withdrawing  the  charge  from 
the  gun  he  restored  the  weapon  to  the  rack. 

"After  all,"  he  said,  "I  am  glad  I  did  not  spoil  her 
pretty  room." 

But  now  that  his  pain  was  not  to  come  to  an  end 
it  assumed  another  form.  The  thought  of  what  he  had 
lost  came  to  scourge  him  with  whips  of  fire.  He  pushed 
off  Sancho,  who  would  have  clambered  over  him  and 
fell  to  walking  up  and  down  the  room  as  though  he 
could  not  rest.  A  fierce  colour  sprang  into  his  haggard 
cheek,  the  reflection  of  the  fire  that  was  consuming  his 
soul.  He  clenched  his  hands  till  the  nails  bit  in  the 
flesh.  He  was  conscious  again  of  the  desire,  to  tear 
and  to  end  something. 

Then  a  thought  came  to  him,  and  he  stood  still, 
many  curious  expressions  following  each  other  over  his 
face.  Once  more  he  sat  down  in  the  chair  below  his 
mother's  picture  and  took  Sancho's  paws  and  lifted  the 
dog,  placing  the  paws  about  his  neck. 

"To-morrow  was  to  have  been  my  wedding-day," 
he  said  aloud.  "  And  why  should  I  not  have  a  wedding 
after  all,  only  that  there  will  be  a  change  of  brides  ? " 

The  sun  rose  up  over  the  wet  garden,  hanging  all 


208  DICK   PENTREATH 

the  leaves  and  grass  blades  with  rings  of  golden  water. 
The  light  shone  into  the  room,  which  wore  a  cold  and 
forlorn  look  in  the  new  day.  Dick  stood  up  and  ex- 
tinguished the  lamp,  which  smelt  as  it  went  out.  His 
eye  fell  on  the  envelope  containing  his  last  will  and 
testament  and  he  took  it  up  and  tossed  it  into  a  drawer. 
Hia  face  showed  no  relief  that  he  had  been  saved  from 
self-destruction,  but  rather  an  envy  of  the  quiet  thing 
he  had  thought  to  be  at  this  hour. 

"I  shall  have  to  change  it,  I  suppose,"  he  said, 
talking  to  the  dog  from  long  habit.  "  It  wouldn't  be 
fair  to  the  poor  little  woman  who  loves  me,  loves  me 
unasked  and  undesired,  poor  wretch." 

His  face  worked  for  an  instant ;  then  he  went  on 
talking  to  the  dog. 

"Some  people  would  say  that  you  had  done  me 
an  uncommonly  good  turn  just  now,  old  fellow,"  he 
said,  caressing  him.  "  That  remains  to  be  seen.  I  re- 
member when  I  was  at  Harrow  reading  something 
about  the  gods  on  Olympus  smiling  and  careless  of 
men.  I  never  was  any  good  at  the  dead  languages,  nor 
the  living,  for  the  matter  of  that.  Perhaps  the  gods 
may  relent,  seeing  what  has  happened.  But  it's  just 
a  toss-up,  old  dog,  just  a  toss-up." 


CHAPTEE  XVII 

"WHAT  A  THING  FRIENDSHIP  IS" 

THE  early  post  had  brought  Lady  Stella  a  letter  from 
Mrs.  Semple. 

"A  terrible  thing  has  happened,"  the  poor  woman 
wrote.  A  great  tear-drop  had  fallen  on  the  words  and 
made  the  ink  run.  "  Last  night  we  met  Dick  at  the 
Opera.  He  had  been  dining  with  his  friends,  and  had 
drunk  too  much  wine.  He  did  stupid  things,  and 
Dorothea  took  it  badly.  She  is  very  rigid  about  some 
things.  We  left  him  at  the  theatre,  and  after  we  had 
come  home  Dorothea  went  to  her  room,  turning  away 
from  everything  I  could  say.  She  looked  terrible. 
After  I  had  gone  to  my  room  I  heard  the  hall  door 
shut.  Dorothea  had  been  out  and  had  posted  a  letter 
to  him.  She  has  given  him  his  conge.  There  will  be 
no  wedding.  Her  father  and  I  are  in  despair,  but  we 
could  not  move  her.  She  has  gone  into  the  country, 
leaving  instructions  that  all  the  presents  are  to  be 
returned.  I'm  afraid  it  is  a  bad  business.  My  heart 

209  P 


210  DICK  PENTREATH 

bleeds  for  poor  Dick,  whom  I  had  come  to  love  like  a 
son.  Her  father  is  bitterly  angry  with  Dorothea.  Poor 
child,  she  does  not  know  the  world,  but  she  is  not  as 
hard  as  this  would  seem  to  prove  her.  She  will  suffer 
herself  later.  Indeed,  she  suffers  now.  You  could  not 
doubt  it  if  you  saw  her  face.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  hardly 
the  right  to  ask ;  but  will  you  let  me  know  something 
about  the  poor  boy  ?  ' 

The  expression  of  Lady  Stella's  face  as  she  read  the 
letter,  which  she  had  received  at  the  breakfast-table, 
pierced  through  the  Duke's  absorption  in  his  breakfast. 
As  it  happened  they  were  alone. 

"Another  cup  of  coffee,  please,  Stella,"  he  said, 
looking  up ;  and  then,  "  Good  Heavens !  what  is  the 
matter  ?  What  has  happened  ?  " 

Lady  Stella  handed  him  the  letter.  She  seemed  as 
though  she  struggled  for  words.  While  he  read  the 
letter  with  eager  curiosity  she  found  them. 

"  You  were  there,"  she  said.  "  You  could  have  pre- 
vented this.  Dick  take  too  much  wine — Dick  of  all 
men !  Why  he  never  cared  for  wine.  I  can't 
believe  it." 

The  Duke  looked  at  her  soberly,  with  a  horror- 
stricken  expression. 

"  I  saw  nothing  wrong  with  Dick,"  he  said.  "  We 
were  ragging  a  bit,  and  he  ran  away  from  us  all.  There 
was  no  sign  of  anything  then.  You  don't  suppose  I'd 


"WHAT  A  THING  FRIENDSHIP  IS"         211 

have  allowed  him  to  go  ?  I'd  have  put  him  to  bed  and 
sent  a  message  that  he  wasn't  well.  Poor  Dick  I 
What  a  heartless  girl !  Dick  is  very  well  quit  of  her ! " 

"  What  I  want  to  know  is  how  it  happened,"  went 
on  Lady  Stella,  with  the  eye  of  an  accusing  angel. 
"  You  were  all  his  friends.  What  did  you  do  to  him 
that  Dick  must  suffer  for?  He  will  suffer  horribly. 
He  never  took  too  much  wine,  knowing  it.  He  used 
to  say  that  wine  made  him  dull.  He  was  so  happy 
that  it  could  only  affect  him  adversely." 

The  Duke  stammered  and  looked  down  guiltily  at 
the  letter. 

"  I  heard  afterwards  that  some  of  the  young  fellows, 
when  he  was  on  his  feet  thanking  us  for  the  horse — 
poor  old  chap,  he  nearly  broke  down — played  pranks 
with  his  glass.  They  kept  filling  it  with  champagne 
when  he  wasn't  looking,  and  in  the  end  they  gave  him 
a  dose  of  brandy  along  with  the  champagne.  Good 
Heavens,  Stella,  why  do  you  look  at  me  like  that? 
You  don't  suppose  I  knew  about  it,  or  would  have 
allowed  it  if  I  had  known  ? " 

"  It  was  a  good  jest,"  said  Lady  Stella,  bitterly,  "  to 
murder  Dick's  happiness." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ? " 

Lady  Stella  had  stood  up  from  her  place  at  the 
breakfast-table,  and  was  sweeping  her  letters  together 
with  an  Olympian  wrath  on  her  fine  brows. 


212  DICK   PENTREATH 

"  I  am  going  to  see  how  Dick  is  taking  it,  to  help 
him  if  I  can,  if  any  one  can  help  him." 

"  Bring  him  back  with  you.  Let  us  get  him  away. 
I  could  order  the  yacht  round  to  Southampton,  and  we 
could  carry  him  off  from  the  nine  days'  wonder.  The 
girl  may  relent  or  he  may  forget  her.  Why  should 
Dick,  dear  old  Dick,  go  on  caring  for  a  girl  who  could 
be  so  cruel  ? " 

The  tears  came  suddenly  to  Lady  Stella's  eyes. 
She  went  round  the  table  to  her  brother's  side,  and 
kissed  him  about  the  sleek  parting  of  his  red  hair. 

"  I  spoke  to  you  sharply,  Arthur,"  she  said.  "  For- 
give me.  Of  course,  you  didn't  know.  If  we  can  get 
Dick  to  go  away  it  will  be  the  best  and  kindest  thing. 
Just  you  and  I  and  Dick." 

"  What  about  your  engagements,  Stella  ?  You  were 
engaged  right  through  August.  And — Goldhawk  will 
be  at  the  Dalrymples." 

"  My  engagements  must  go." 

"  What  a  brick  of  a  girl  you  are,  Stella !  " 

The  Duke  touched  his  sister's  hand,  which  rested  on 
his  shoulder,  in  an  unwonted  caress. 

"  What  a  brick  you  are !  I  can  tell  you  I'm 
wretched  about  old  Dick.  I'd  rather  have  come  to 
grief  myself.  Shall  I  order  your  pony-carriage  ? " 

"  If  you  please." 

The  carriage  was  at  the  door  by  the  time  Lady 


"WHAT  A   THING   FRIENDSHIP  IS"         213 

Stella  came  downstairs,  buttoning  her  neat  little  driving- 
gloves.  She  looked  pale  and  her  eyes  were  heavy. 
She  was  of  the  women  who  weep  seldom  and  weep 
hard. 

"  Stella  takes  things  too  much  to  heart,"  the  Duke 
thought,  looking  after  her.  "I  have  never  seen  a 
woman  who  is  a  patch  on  her.  I  don't  know  how  I 
shall  do  without  her  when  she  marries  Goldhawk. 
She  will  help  Dick  if  any  one  can.  Poor  old  Dick ! 
what  a  beastly  shame ! " 

He  would  have  offered  to  go  with  his  sister  only 
that  he  felt  Stella  would  do  the  business  better  alone. 
They  had  had  a  good  many  engagements  before  August 
took  them  to  the  moors,  and  the  Duke,  who  was  a 
society  person  most  unwillingly,  was  secretly  pleased 
at  the  thought  of  getting  out  of  them  all  and  escaping 
with  Dick  and  Stella  for  a  long  cruise.  They  would  go 
where  they  were  not  likely  to  meet  English  people  and 
would  put  in  at  small,  unsophisticated  places  where 
titles  and  all  that  sort  of  thing  might  be  dropped.  He 
could  hardly  keep  from  outward  manifestations  of  joy 
at  the  thought.  Indeed,  once  he  broke  into  a  long, 
exuberant  whistle,  as  clear  and  full  as  the  call  of  a 
blackbird,  and  then  felt  dreadfully  ashamed  of  himself, 
because  calamity  had  fallen  on  Dick  and  he  had  been 
connected,  although  innocently,  with  the  cause  of  the 
trouble. 


214  DICK   PENTREATH 

"  I've  a  great  mind  to  kick  Casaubon,"  he  said  to 
himself,  savagely.  "  As  for  that  girl,  she  never  was  good 
enough  for  old  Dick,  poor  old  chap.  I  wonder  what  he 
saw  in  her !  Too  much  of  a  stained-glass  saint  for  me. 
I'd  rather  have  a  little  brown  girl  like  the  Kingscote 
child." 

However,  he  went  on  making  tentative  arrange- 
ments with  regard  to  his  change  of  plans.  He  was  still 
young  enough  to  feel  that  preparations  for  a  thing 
desired  brought  the  thing  nearer. 

"We  might  bring  the  little  girl  with  her  banjo, 
perhaps,"  he  said  to  himself,  "or  if  we  couldn't  have 
her  without  Stiles,  why  there's  the  other  one,  the  leggy 
one,  who  plays  games  like  a  boy,  and  has  a  plait  like  a 
colt's  tail  down  her  back." 

Then  he  reproached  himself  for  considering  his  own 
pleasure  when  the  alleviation  of  Dick's  trouble  was  the 
only  thing  to  be  thought  of.  To  be  sure,  Dick  wouldn't 
want  even  Molly  Kingscote's  innocent  eyes  upon  him ; 
and  he,  the  Duke,  could  do  very  well  without  amuse- 
ment on  board  since  the  sea  always  sufficed  him. 

He  had  all  he  could  do  to  refrain  from  writing  half 
a  dozen  letters  about  his  changes  of  plans  till  Stella 
should  return.  He  contented  himself  with  finding  a 
telegraph  form  and  filling  it  with  instructions  to  the 
skipper  of  the  Stella  to  bring  her  round  to  Southampton, 
and  make  her  ready  for  a  six  weeks'  cruise. 


"WHAT  A  THING  FRIENDSHIP  IS"         215 

He  was  sitting  nibbling  the  end  of  his  pen  and 
staring  at  the  telegram  when  the  door  opened  and  his 
sister  came  in.  He  had  not  heard  the  carriage  drive  up. 
Sancho  came  in  with  Lady  Stella.  There  was  bad  news 
written  in  Lady  Stella's  face. 

"  Well  ?  "  asked  the  Duke,  breathlessly. 

"  Dick  went  up  to  town  by  the  8.15.  It  seems  that 
he  hasn't  been  in  bed  all  night.  Mrs.  Maidment  does 
not  know  when  he  will  return.  He  told  her  that  he 
would  let  her  know  in  time." 

The  Duke  whistled,  a  long,  low  whistle  of  dismay. 

"  That  is  bad,"  he  said ;  and  fell  again,  being  an 
inarticulate  person  by  habit,  to  nibbling  his  pen.  He 
held  out  a  hand  to  Sancho  and  the  dog  came  and  put 
his  nose  into  it. 

"  He  and  Dick  were  together  all  night.  If  only 
Sancho  could  speak  we  should  know  more.  I  brought 
the  poor  fellow  here.  If  we  wanted  any  proof  that 
Dick  was  taking  it  hard  we  have  only  to  look  at 
Sancho." 

The  dog,  indeed,  stood  hanging  his  head,  as  though 
all  the  sorrows  of  the  world  were  oppressing  him. 
While  they  looked  at  him  he  shivered  and  lay  down 
with  his  nose  upon  his  paws. 

"He  couldn't  be  worse,"  said  the  Duke,  "if  Dick 
were  dead." 

Brother  and  sister  looked  into  each  other's  eyes, 


216  DICK   PENTREATH 

silent  for  a  moment.  The  Duke  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  has  become  of  Dick  ? "  he 
said  uneasily.  "  Odd  his  going  away  in  that  mys- 
terious fashion.  One  always  knew  everything  about 
Dick ;  such  a  candid,  transparent  fellow  !  " 

"  What  do  you  think,  Arthur  ?  I  have  no  sugges- 
tions to  offer.  I  don't  think  Dick  has  any  friends  of 
whom  we  don't  know." 

The  Duke  hesitated. 

"  Some  men,"  he  said  slowly,  "  would  go  and  get 
drunk.  Some  men  might — do  themselves  a  mischief." 

"  Not  Dick,"  cried  Lady  Stella,  imploringly,  "  the 
child  of  so  many  prayers.  God  would  not  permit  it. 
His  mother — all  of  us  who  loved  him " 

The  Duke  shook  his  head  in  a  sad  worldly  wisdom. 

"  It  isn't  only  the  poor  devils  that  blow  their  brains 
out,"  he  said. 

Again  the  dog  shivered  and  sighed,  and  there  was  a 
dumb  anguish  in  the  eye  turned  upon  them. 

"  I  believe  he  knows  more  about  it  than  any  of 
us,"  said  the  Duke.  If  he  had  not  been  possessed 
beforehand  with  the  idea  that  his  sister  was  pre- 
pared in  her  own  time  to  reward  Otto  Goldhawk's 
patient  devotion,  he  might  have  thought  more  of 
sparing  her.  "And,  so  far  as  one  can  judge,  what 
he  knows  is  uncommonly  bad." 


"WHAT   A   THING   FRIENDSHIP  IS"         217 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  Lady  Stella  asked 
suddenly. 

"  To  do  ?  Why,  what  can  I  do  ?  What  can  any  of 
us  do  until  Dick  comes  back  ? " 

"  Meanwhile,  one  might  be  in  time,  perhaps,  to — to — 
to  save  Dick's  life.  Supposing  one  were  to  come — just 
in  time ! " 

"  Ah ! "  The  Duke  mechanically  tore  in  two  the 
telegram  to  the  skipper  of  the  Stella,  but  the  act 
was  not  without  its  significance.  "You  want  me 
to  go  after  him,  Stella?  I  am  willing  to  do  any- 
thing for  old  Dick.  But — you  know  what  London 
is!  After  I've  done  one  or  two  things  I  shall  be  at 
fault." 

"You  will  go  to  Beldam's  Hotel  first,  of  course  ? " 

"  Of  course.  I  may  find  him  there.  If  I  do  he 
won't  escape  from  me.  I'll  carry  him  off  to  Southamp- 
ton and  wire  for  the  yacht.  How  ridiculous  all  this 
alarm  about  him  will  seem !  " 

He  looked  longingly  at  the  scraps  of  the  torn  tele- 
gram in  the  waste-paper  basket.  The  Duke  was  a 
frugal  young  man  by  nature,  although  he  could  be  very 
generous.  The  waste  of  that  form  distressed  him  for 
the  moment. 

"  We  have  not  found  him  yet,"  Lady  Stella  reminded 
him. 

"  No,  to  be  sure  we  haven't.     If  he  hasn't  been  to 


218  DICK   PENTREATH 

Beldam's,  and  if  none  of  the  other  fellows  have  seen 
him,  what  am  I  to  do  next  ?  I  suppose  I  ought  to  go 
down  to  Whitechapel,  and  see  the  Semples  ?  They  may 
have  news  of  him." 

"  I  hardly  think  so.  But  you  need  not  go  there,  for 
I'm  going." 

"You!" 

"Did  you  suppose  I  was  going  to  stay  here  and 
dispense  afternoon  tea  and  do  district  visiting  while 
Dick's  fate  was  in  the  balance  ? " 

"  To  be  sure  you  will  do  what  you  like,"  said  the 
Duke,  meekly.  "  You  will  take  a  maid,  dear  ? " 

"  I  think  not.  We  are  not  going  to  publish  what 
we  are  doing  to  all  the  world.  I'm  of  an  age — and — a 
discretion — and  a  plainness  of  looks,  to  get  about  by 
myself." 

"Not  plainness,  Stella,"  said  the  Duke,  reproach- 
fully. "  No,  by  Jove !  no  one  could  call  you  plain.  Of 
course,  I  know  how  clever  you  are,  and  how  wise. 
Still— the  East  End ! " 

"  I'll  drive  in  a  hansom  all  the  way.  We  can  put 
up  at  Claridge's  for  a  day  or  two.  I  can  come  back  in 
a  hansom,  too." 

"Very  well."  The  Duke  evidently  was  persuaded 
against  his  will.  "  You'll  be  very  careful,  Stella  ?  To 
be  sure  I  heard  that  a  Eoyal  Princess  was  seen  coming 
out  of  a  tu'penny-ha'penny  shop  in  the  Buckingham 


"WHAT  A  THING   FRIENDSHIP  18"         219 

Palace  Road  the  other  day,  quite  unattended.  The 
times  move  too  fast  for  me." 

"  I'll  be  careful,"  Lady  Stella  said,  with  a  difficult 
smile.  "  That  is  to  say  I'll  study  the  legs  of  the  hansom 
horses  before  I  engage  one.  Short  of  being  thrown  or 
a  collision,  I  don't  see  what  is  to  happen  to  one  in 
a  hansom." 

"Be  sure  and  sit  back  in  the  corner.  That's  the 
right  way  to  avoid  the  glass  if  you  are  thrown." 

"  I  had  better  order  the  carriage  for  the  one-twenty- 
five.  We  shall  have  time  to  catch  it." 

"Ample  time.  We  can  lunch  in  town.  By  the 
way,  Stella,  if  I  don't  find  Dick  after  I  have  gone  to 
Beldam's  and  round  our  friends,  what  am  I  to  do  ?" 

"  I  have  thought  of  that.  What  about  that  farm  in 
the  Essex  marshes  where  Dick  used  to  shoot  ?  Do  you 
suppose  he  would  have  gone  there  ?  " 

"  By  Jove !  " 

The  ingenuous  colour  rose  to  the  Duke's  cheek.  He 
remembered  a  chance  remark  of  Teddy  Casaubons, 
who  was  preternaturally  clever  in  detecting  motives 
and  meanings  unsuspected  by  other  people.  "  Susan 
has  grown  demure,"  said  Teddy.  "She  slapped  my 
face  when  I  wanted  to  kiss  her.  The  soaringness  of 
the  hussy  !  She  is  setting  her  cap  at  Pentreath."  He 
remembered,  at  the  same  time,  that  they  had  left  Dick 
behind  alone  at  the  farm  last  February.  And  Dick 


220  DICK   PBNTREATH 

had  mentioned  casually  since  that  he  intended  to  look 
for  another  shoot.  He  had  coloured  when  he  said  it, 
and  the  Duke  had  wondered  at  the  moment  whether 
Susan  had  shown  a  too  coming-on  disposition.  Then, 
as  was  his  way,  he  had  clean  forgotten  about  the  inci- 
dent till  his  sister's  words  reminded  him. 

"By  Jove!"  he  said.  "I  shouldn't  be  at  all 
surprised." 

In  his  own  mind  he  said  to  himself  that  he  hoped 
Dick  hadn't  been  mad  enough  to  go  to  Stone  Farm  in 
his  present  state  of  mind.  That  kind  of  consolation 
would  be  no  good  for  Dick.  They  all  knew,  except 
Dick,  how  very  facile  Susan  was  with  her  lovers.  The 
Duke  did  not  remember  the  famous  occasion  when 
Dick  had  rebuked  the  young  fellows  for  their  levity 
about  Susan,  or  had  confused  the  issues,  ascribing 
Dick's  zeal  rather  to  carefulness  over  the  boys  than  to 
any  great  concern  for  Susan  who  was  so  excellently 
well  able  to  take  care  of  herself.  If  it  had  occurred  to 
the  Duke  that  Dick  might  not  know  Susan's  true  cha- 
racter he  would  have  been  more  perturbed  than  he  was. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

HILDA 

LADY  STELLA,  in  other  respects  soundly  and  sweetly 
healthy,  had  no  immunity  from  sick  headaches  of  a 
peculiarly  distressing  sort.  In  the  train  she  became 
aware  of  the  zig-zags  of  light  which  portended  a  seizure, 
and  groaned  in  the  knowledge  that  for  the  remainder  of 
the  day  she  was  going  to  be  incapacitated  from  exertion 
of  any  kind. 

In  fact,  she  spent  the  afternoon,  in  which  she  had 
hoped  to  have  visited  the  Semples  in  search  of  a  clue 
to  Dick's  whereabouts,  lying  in  a  darkened  room,  sick 
and  helpless,  raging  against  the  incapacity  which  had 
overtaken  her  at  the  moment  when  her  whole  heart 
cried  out  against  inertness.  In  fact,  the  suffering  of 
that  enforced  idleness  brought  the  tears  to  her  eyes 
which  did  not  easily  come  there.  While  she  lay  so, 
what  might  not  be  happening  to  Dick  ? 

The  Duke  was  back  at  the  hotel  by  dinner-time. 
He  had  no  news  of  Dick.  Beldam's  had  seen  nothing 

221 


222  DICK  PENTREATH 

of  him.  He  had  driven  here  and  there  to  friends  of 
his  own  who  were  also  Dick's  friends,  to  Beauclerk 
Marshbanks  and  others,  to  Dick's  men  of  business,  to 
the  few  places  he  had  known  him  to  frequent  on  his 
rare  visits  to  town.  No  one  had  tale  nor  tidings  of 
Dick.  He  had  been  discreet,  he  told  his  sister  with  a 
shy  pride,  and  had  said  nothing  of  Dick's  trouble.  If 
he  could  only  find  him !  Probably  the  girl  was  feeling 
pretty  sick  by  this  time  and  things  might  come  right 
yet.  He  was  glad  he  had  said  nothing. 

Lady  Stella  commended  him  with  a  faint,  tender 
smile.  There  was  nothing  more  he  could  do  that  even- 
ing. To-morrow  he  would  go  down  to  the  farm  in  the 
Essex  marshes.  Meanwhile,  he  looked  to  have  a  dull 
evening.  Lady  Stella  turned  away  from  the  prospect 
of  dinner.  After  a  night's  rest  she  would  be  herself 
again. 

The  Duke  had  no  great  resources  within  himself. 
Least  of  all  had  he  resources  in  town ;  there  his  enter- 
tainment must  come  from  outside.  Lady  Stella,  with 
a  handkerchief  soaked  in  lavender-water  across  her 
eyes,  suggested  a  theatre;  but  the  Duke  would  not 
hear  of  it  and  his  sister  loved  him  the  better  for  it 
if  that  were  possible. 

"What!"  he  said.  "Go  to  a  theatre  while  old 
Dick's  fate  is  in  the  balance  !  It  would  be  downright 
indecent.  I  hear  there  is  a  wonderful  Spanish  dancer 


HILDA  223 

at  the  Empire.  Never  mind !  I  couldn't  enjoy  it  for 
thinking  of  old  Dick." 

He  went  down  to  his  solitary  dinner  in  a  melancholy 
mood.  The  evening  stretched  before  him  interminably 
long.  The  long  twilight,  too ;  why,  the  light  would  be 
yet  in  the  sky  at  midnight  this  time  of  year.  If  he 
were  at  home,  now,  or  on  the  yacht,  there  would  be 
plenty  to  do.  Town  was  another  matter.  How  dusty 
the  streets  looked !  To  be  sure,  every  one  was  in  town, 
and  there  would  be  no  end  of  people  glad  to  see  him  if 
only  he  could  make  sure  of  finding  any  one  at  home. 
But  he  couldn't  go  visiting — not  while  this  trouble  hung 
over  them.  He  had  an  odd  feeling  as  though  Dick  were 
lying  dead  and  unburied,  which  made  him  feel  visiting 
out  of  place  as  much  as  the  theatres  or  the  halls. 

About  midway  of  the  dinner  he  had  an  inspiration. 
Why  should  he  not  get  into  a  cab  and  drive  down  to 
Whitechapel  to  the  Semples  and  hear  if  they  had 
news  of  Dick  ?  Stella  would  sleep  the  better  and 
have  a  better  chance  against  the  headache  if  but  he 
could  bring  her  good  news. 

He  cut  the  dinner  short  in  his  eagerness  to  put  his 
idea  into  action.  He  sent  a  message  to  Lady  Stella  by 
a  chambermaid  that  he  was  going  out  for  some  hours. 
No  need  to  keep  Stella  on  tenterhooks,  he  said  to 
himself.  If  there  was  any  news  of  Dick  he  would  see 
her  when  he  came  back  and  impart  it. 


224  DICK   PENTREATH 

It  was  no  more  than  eight  o'clock  when  he  was 
getting  into  his  hansom,  wearing  a  light  overcoat  to 
cover  up  his  evening  clothes.  The  West  End  streets 
were  yet  alive  with  traffic,  and  traffic  of  the  gayest — 
long  lines  of  carriages  and  hansoms  filled  with  people 
in  evening  dress,  the  pretty  gowns  of  the  women  and 
their  flowers  and  their  faces  suggesting  masses  of 
flowers  packed  away  in  the  dark  interiors.  Still  the 
quietness  of  the  evening  was  in  the  air  and  in  the  sky ; 
and  presently,  when  they  had  left  the  Strand  and 
Ludgate  Hill  behind,  they  got  into  a  deserted  city 
Hardly  a  creature  stirred  against  the  grey  fronts  of 
banks  and  offices.  The  smooth  stretch  of  roadway 
was  unbroken,  except  by  here  and  there  a  prowling 
cat.  The  rumble  of  traffic  was  done.  Except  very  far 
up,  the  buildings  showed  no  lights.  There  was  an 
occasional  policeman  to  be  seen,  reminding  one  that  the 
City  held  many  treasures. 

"  By  Jove ! "  said  the  Duke  to  himself,  with  a  feel- 
ing of  being  on  a  voyage  of  discovery.  He  was 
struck  by  the  quiet  strength  and  comeliness  of  the 
City  which  he  knew  under  such  a  different  aspect. 
Where  were  all  the  black-coated,  top-hatted  men  who 
made  an  ink-black  river  all  day  along  those  paths, 
diverging  now  and  again  in  a  hurried  black  trickle 
down  narrow  courts  and  passages  or  up  the  steps  of 
a  building  ?  "I  wonder  people  don't  live  here  more," 


HILDA  225 

he  said  to  himself,  appreciating  the  cleanness,  the  fresh- 
ness of  the  evening  air,  the  wide  streets,  the  handsome 
buildings  ;  above  all,  the  silence,  more  beautiful  by 
force  of  contrast. 

Presently  the  Bank  was  left  behind  and  they  were 
once  more  in  the  thick  of  life — a  dreary  and  sordid  life, 
although  the  twilight  cast  her  veils  over  the  people 
and  made  the  flaring  lights  beautiful.  The  street 
lamps  of  the  Whitechapel  Road  extended,  a  river  of 
jewels,  before  them.  Even  the  naphtha  light  of  a 
coster's  barrow  was  turned  to  silver  in  the  soft  twilight. 

He  passed  St.  Aldate's  Church  without  noticing 
the  lights  in  it  or  hearing  for  the  jingle  of  the  hansom 
the  subdued  drone  of  the  organ.  The  front  of  the 
Vicarage  was  dark  except  for  one  glimmering  light. 

He  told  the  hansom-driver  to  wait  for  him,  and 
running  up  the  steps  rang  the  bell.  It  was  his  first 
visit  to  St.  Aldate's.  He  was  not  very  quick  at 
making  friends  and  he  had  admired  Dorothea  dis- 
passionately without  liking  her.  Of  the  father  and 
mother  he  had  seen  little. 

He  had  time  to  notice  even  in  the  dusk  the  ugliness 
of  the  street,  where  everything  corroded  and  blackened 
in  the  smoke.  He  hated  London  and  the  dirt  of  it. 
He  thought  with  a  sudden  indignation  of  the  girl  for 
whom  Dick  had  made  Oakhurst  ready,  who  had  been 
brought  up  in  this  horrible  slum  and  had  preferred  it 

Q 


226  DICK  PENTREATH 

before  Dick  and  Oakhurst,  all  because  of  that  one 
transgression  of  Dick's.  "  God  help  us  all,"  he  said  to 
himself  hotly,  "  if  she  was  to  sit  in  judgment  upon  us  ! 
There  are  very  few  men  that  have  such  a  clean  record  as 
Dick's.  She  was  never  good  enough  for  Dick — never." 

There  was  a  flood  of  electric  light  suddenly  turned 
on  in  the  hall.  Was  Mrs.  Semple  at  home  ?  No  .  Mrs. 
Semple  was  in  the  church ;  there  was  Evensong  this 
evening.  Would  the  gentleman  wait  ?  The  service 
would  not  last  very  long. 

He  hesitated. 

"  Is  there  no  one  at  home  ? "  he  asked.  After  all, 
one  of  Dorothea's  sisters  could  probably  tell  him  as 
much  as  her  mother.  As  he  looked  about  him,  he 
noticed  one  or  two  large  packages  on  the  hall  table. 
The  wedding-presents  were  still  coming  in  evidently. 
He  had  long  sight,  and  he  recognized  Teddy  Casaubon's 
sprawling,  boyish  handwriting  on  one.  He  remem- 
bered that  Teddy  had  expressed  great  admiration  for 
Miss  Semple.  Teddy  would  feel  pretty  bad  when  he 
knew  how  his  prank  had  ended,  he  thought  with  grim 
satisfaction.  Teddy's  idea  of  humour  had  never 
appealed  to  him. 

"  I  believe  they  are  all  in  the  church,  sir,"  the  maid 
said.  "  If  you  are  in  a  hurry  perhaps  I  could  run  over 
and  tell  Mrs.  Semple." 

"  Not  for  worlds,"  he  said  hastily. 


HILDA  227 

At  this  moment  some  one  came  in  sight  down  the 
staircase. 

"  Oh,  here  is  Miss  Hilda,"  said  the  maid.  "  The 
gentleman  wants  to  see  the  mistress,  if  you  please,  Miss 
Hilda.  I  thought  you  were  at  church,  miss." 

The  girl  paused  and  looked  in  a  startled  way.  As 
a  matter  of  fact  she  had  not  known  that  there  was  any 
one  in  the  hall.  She  was  carrying  a  book  in  her  hand 
abstractedly.  Her  short-sighted  eyes  peered  at  the 
visitor.  They  were  brown  as  brown  pansies.  She  was 
wearing  a  much- washed  frock  of  white  Japanese  silk 
made  high  in  the  neck.  She  had  no  figure  to  speak  of — 
an  immature,  childish  figure,  indefinite  in  outline.  She 
had  a  green  sash  tied  loosely  about  her  waist.  Her 
fair  hair  was  cut  in  a  straight  fringe.  She  was  pale, 
and  had  a  suggestion  of  Dorothea's  austerity  without 
Dorothea's  prettiness.  Impossible  to  say  what  she 
might  become  later.  Just  now  she  was  an  unformed 
child,  featureless,  with  a  pale,  soft  mouth  like  a  crushed 
rosebud  and  beautiful  eyes.  And  the  eyes  had  shed 
many  tears  of  late.  Hilda's  face,  in  fact,  was  puffy 
with  much  crying.  She  had  a  painful  sense  herself  of 
those  recent  tears  and  their  effect  on  her  looks.  Not 
that  she  thought  of  her  looks,  as  an  older  girl  might 
have  done.  What  did  she  want  with  looks  ?  She 
wanted  to  go  to  Girton  and  come  out  high  in  the 
classical  tripos.  A  very  modest  ambition,  no  doubt. 


228  DICK   PENTREATH 

"  Will  you  not  come  upstairs  and  wait  for  mother  ? " 
she  said,  in  a  pathetic  little  voice. 

"Thank  you,  if  I  may?" 

The  Duke  followed  Hilda  up  the  stairs,  over  the 
well-worn  carpets,  into  the  drawing-room,  which  was  in 
darkness  except  for  a  couple  of  candles  at  the  piano 
till  she  turned  on  the  lights.  As  usual  there  was  a 
dog  in  every  green  and  white  chair ;  otherwise  the  place 
was  more  orderly  than  when  Dick  had  seen  it.  There 
was  no  fire.  A  great  heap  of  letters  lay  on  Mrs. 
Semple's  desk.  A  sensitive  person  might  have  fancied 
a  little  chill  of  unhappiness  in  the  air,  but  the  Duke 
was  not  given  to  imagining  things. 

"  Get  down,  Sancho,"  said  Hilda,  turning  a  white 
terrier  puppy  with  a  black  face  out  of  a  chair  so  that 
the  guest  might  be  seated.  "You  would  never  sup- 
pose," she  went  on  with  the  odd  little  quiver  of  her 
voice  that  touched  something  soft  in  the  Duke's  heart, 
"that  Sancho  is  a  stray.  He  came  in  one  bitterly 
cold  night  of  March.  No  one  could  turn  him  out 
again  on  such  a  night.  He  always  takes  the  best  chair. 
I  don't  know  how  the  other  dogs  put  up  with  him." 

She  turned  out  another  dog,  and  took  the  chair  by 
the  fireplace,  nearly  opposite  the  Duke's.  Her  fingers 
still  kept  the  place  in  her  book  open.  She  sat  uncom- 
fortably, being  more  used  to  lying  along  a  hearthrug 
than  sitting  in  a  chair.  Her  strapped  schoolgirl 


HILDA  229 

.slippers  appeared  below  her  skirt,  which  she  had 
pretty  well  outgrown.  She  blinked  uneasily  as  she 
sat  under  the  Duke's  gaze.  Plainly  she  was  doing 
her  duty  at  some  cost  to  herself. 

"  Sancho ! "  repeated  the  Duke,  caressing  the  black- 
faced  puppy  who  had  sprung  on  to  his  knee  with  the 
utmost  assurance.  "  After  Dick's  Sancho  ?  " 

Hilda  blinked  more  than  ever.  "  Yes :  after  Dick's 
Sancho,"  she  said.  "  You  are  a  friend  of  Dick's,  of 
Mr.  Pentreath's,  I  ought  to  say.  How  is  poor  Dick  ?  " 

"  I  came  to  ask  if  you  knew  anything  about  him. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  Dick  has  left  home ;  and  we  are 
terribly  anxious  about  him.  I  hoped  I  should  find 
news  of  him  here." 

Hilda  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  in  pale  conster- 
nation that  blotted  out  her  shyness. 

"  We  have  heard  nothing  about  him,  nothing  at  all," 
she  said.  "  Is  it  likely  we  should  ?  It  is  the  very  last 
place  where  you  would  be  likely  to  hear  news  of  him. 
Do  you  suppose  he  is  going  to  come  back  here  after  the 
way  he  has  been  treated  ? " 

She  burst  into  tears,  and,  turning  away  her  face, 
got  up  from  the  chair  and  laid  her  forehead  on  the 
mantelshelf.  One  or  two  of  the  dogs  looked  uncom- 
fortable, and  thumped  their  tails  very  hard  on  their 
chairs. 

As  for  the  Duke,  it  was  impossible  to  see  the  child 


230  DICK  PENTREATH 

crying  uncomforted.  He  got  up,  dropping  the  black- 
faced  puppy  who,  with  an  aggrieved  air  scrambled  into 
the  vacated  chair,  went  to  Hilda's  side  and  murmured 
something  incoherent  by  way  of  comfort. 

"You're  a  friend  of  Dick's,"  said  Hilda,  lifting  a 
distorted  face  down  which  the  tears  trickled  plenti 
fully  as  only  the  tears  of  the  very  young  do.  "  If  you 
see  him  tell  him  that  we  aren't — all — pigs.  I  have 
cried — ever  since.  Mother  wouldn't  let  me  go  to 
church — because  she — was  afraid — I'd  roar  —  and 
disturb  the  people." 

Down  went  her  face  again. 

"  Dick  would  be  grateful,"  said  the  Duke,  gently. 

"  We  all  feel  the  same ! "  sobbed  Hilda,  with 
renewed  vehemence— "we  can't  bear — to  think — of 
Dorothea.  Hateful  thing !  She  ought  to  suffer.  Such 
a  little  thing  too.  She  knows  nothing.  If  she  had 
read  Anacreon  or  Horace.  Why,  even  Socrates  !  You 
remember  ? " 

The  Duke  did  not  remember.  His  acquaintance 
with  the  classics  was  limited.  In  fact,  his  asso- 
ciations with  those  great  names  were  not  remotely 
connected  with  some  birches  preserved  from  his  Eton 
days,  which,  neatly  tied  up  with  blue  ribbon,  adorned 
the  walls  of  his  sanctum  at  Lydford  Towers.  But  he  had 
a  glimmering  of  what  the  child  meant,  and  the  humour 
of  it  touched  him,  although  he  kept  a  solemn  face. 


HILDA  231 

"  Reading  does  broaden  one's  views,"  he  said.  "  Not 
that  I've  done  much  of  it.  And  it  wasn't  poor 
Dick's  fault.  I  think  your  sister  was  very  hard  on 
him." 

"  I  expect  he  hates  us  all,"  said  Hilda,  returning  to 
her  disconsolate  weeping. 

"I'm  sure  he  doesn't,"  said  the  Duke.  "Such  a 
loyal  little  friend." 

Then — he  couldn't  resist  the  impulse — he  put  out 
his  hand  and  stroked  Hilda's  pale  mane  of  hair.  He 
had  wilder  impulses — to  put  his  arm  about  her  little 
shaken  form  and  draw  her  to  him  and  comfort  her  in 
that  way ;  but  he  restrained  himself. 

"  I  hate  to  be  such  a  baby,"  she  said,  looking  up  at 
him  shyly  and  gratefully.  "  There,  I  shan't  do  it  any 
more !  No ;  I'm  afraid  mother  has  no  news  of  Dick. 
I  only  wish  Dorothea  wasn't  my  sister.  Supposing  we 
go  across  to  the  church.  If  we  talk  I  shall  be  making 
a  fool  of  myself  again." 

She  put  on  a  hat  and  they  went  across  to  the 
church,  an  old  church  disproportionately  great  in  a 
district  where  it  was  difficult  to  make  the  people 
church-goers.  A  few  lights  glimmered  in  the  choir. 
Half  a  dozen  people  with  bent  heads  were  in  the  pews. 
The  choir  was  singing — the  vision  of  St.  John  the 
Beloved  of  the  Heavenly  City.  Here  in  the  murk  of 
East  London  it  was  something  to  lift  up  the  heart; 


232  DICK  PENTREATH 

and  it  appealed  to  Hilda  evidently,  for  she  raised  her 
face  and  looked  with  steady  exaltation  away  to  the 
altar-lights. 

It  was  true  that  the  Semples  had  no  news  of  Dick. 
The  elders  were  plainly  so  unhappy  about  Dick  that 
it  made  the  Duke  glad  to  be  gone. 

"  It  will  be  aU  right !  It  will  be  all  right !  "  he  said 
to  himself,  spurring  up  his  depressed  optimism.  "  Every- 
thing is  sure  to  come  right  for  such  a  good  fellow  as 
Dick." 

This  was  when  he  was  driving  back  from  the  East 
End  to  his  hotel,  congratulating  himself  the  while  that 
he  had  been  cautious  enough  not  to  give  Stella  the  hope 
of  news. 

"  I  don't  know  what  Dick  saw  in  her ! "  he  said  to 
himself,  with  bitter  disparagement  of  Dick's  choice. 
"  Nor  Stella,  nor  any  of  them.  I  never  saw  anything 
in  her  myself.  If  it  had  been  little  Hilda  now ! " 


CHAPTER  XIX 

TWO  WOMEN 

"  So  there  will  be  no  use  going  down  there,"  said  the 
Duke,  concluding  the  tale  of  last  night's  adventures  at 
the  breakfast-table.  "  What  will  you  do  to-day  ?  Come 
with  me  into  Essex  ?  " 

Lady  Stella  made  a  little  gesture  of  repugnance. 
That  was  something  she  could  not  do  and  she  wondered 
at  her  brother  for  suggesting  it.  There  were  limits  to  a 
woman's  interference  with  a  man's  doings,  no  matter 
how  close  and  dear  the  friendship  between  them. 

"  I  am  going  into  Essex  too,"  she  said,  "  but  not  so 
far  as  you  are  going." 

The  Duke  stared. 

"  I  am  going  to  see  Miss  Semple,"  she  went  on.  "  I 
think  I  know  pretty  well  where  I  shall  find  her.  She 
has  not  many  friends ;  and  she  has  told  me  about  this 
Essex  cottage  where  her  old  nurse  lives.  I  have 
written  to  her  there.  It  lies  inland.  You  can  see  me 
off  at  Liverpool  Street,  but  we  part  company  there. 
Yours  is  a  main-line  train." 

233 


234  DICK   PENTREATH 

"  You  should  have  brought  your  maid,"  the  Duke 
said  in  a  subdued  grumble.  "  I  don't  like  your  running 
all  over  the  place  by  yourself." 

"  Nothing  would  have  induced  me  to  have  a  maid 
with  me  on  this  business.  It  is  not  a  long  journey.  I 
shall  be  back  in  town  long  before  you." 

"  You  always  have  your  own  way." 

"  I  have  a  most  indulgent  brother." 

Despite  his  dissatisfaction,  the  Duke  could  not  help 
smiling  back  at  his  sister.  Lady  Stella  was  pale  to-day, 
rather  unbecomingly  pale  —  her  headache  had  left 
its  traces — but  it  would  be  a  strange  day  when  Lady 
Stella  could  not  smile.  She  had  not  been  named 
Stella  for  nothing. 

Immediately  after  breakfast  they  made  ready  for 
their  journey  and  were  soon  at  Liverpool  Street,  where 
the  Duke  found  that  he  would  have  time  to  see  his  sister 
off  before  he  need  look  for  his  own  train.  He  grumbled 
again  because  people  looked  at  her  ;  she  had  the  air  of 
distinction  that  marked  her  out  as  somebody,  and  a 
good  many  glances  followed  the  tall  brother  and  sister. 

He  wondered  too  at  the  way  in  which  Stella  looked 
about  her  with  interest,  as  though  a  dirty  London 
railway-station  could  be  of  interest  to  any  one.  He 
had  no  clue  to  his  sister's  thoughts.  The  station  was 
as  bright  as  a  glorious  June  morning  outside  could 
make  it,  and  the  people,  hurrying  hither  and  thither, 


TWO  WOMEN  235 

had,  many  of  them,  a  holiday-making  air.  But  Lady 
Stella  saw  the  place  in  winter  fog;  the  blue  glare  of 
electric  light  scarcely  availing  to  make  it  luminous. 
She  saw  the  people  emerging  ghost-like  from  the  fog, 
swathed  in  heavy  winter  wraps  Over  yonder  at  the 
end  of  the  arrival  platform,  it  would  be  there  that  Dick 
had  first  seen  Dorothea.  If  that  had  not  happened !  Ah 
well,  perhaps  it  had  to  happen ;  perhaps  it  was  written 
that  for  some  strange,  inscrutable  reason  Dick's  young 
heart  must  be  broken.  All  the  mother  in  Lady  Stella 
bled  as  she  thought  upon  that  meeting  and  its  results. 

"  God-speed ! "  she  said  to  her  brother,  as  her  train 
began  to  move  out. 

"  God-speed  ! "  he  answered,  lifting  his  hat  to  her. 

Her  station,  Fenny  Marsh,  was  some  four  miles  from 
the  cottage  where  she  looked  to  find  Miss  Semple.  She 
chartered  a  station  fly  and  prepared  with  what  patience 
she  could  to  endure  the  drive.  It  was  an  exquisite  day, 
and  at  another  time  she  would  have  found  plenty  to 
delight  her  in  the  wide  stretches  of  marshy  country, 
grey  with  the  sea-holly,  yellow  with  wild  iris,  sapphire, 
and  snow,  and  gold  from  the  reflection  of  the  sky  in  a 
thousand  quiet  pools.  She  would  have  been  enchanted 
with  the  cattle  wending  their  way  across  the  solid  cause- 
ways of  stone,  with  the  great  horizon  and  the  wide  sky. 

Presently,  as  they  struck  inland,  the  road  began  to 
ascend,  and  the  fields  to  take  the  place  of  the  marshes. 


236  DICK   PENTREATH 

Another  time  she  would  have  cried  out  in  delight  at  the 
beauty  of  the  villages,  with  their  unfamiliar  bridges  and 
causeways  and  old  water-mills,  so  unlike  the  beauty  of 
her  own  pleasant  country.  It  was  like  a  picture  by 
Mauve,  or  one  of  the  Maris  brothers.  But  she  had  no 
eye  for  it  to-day,  and  her  thoughts  looking  inwards  at 
the  perturbation  of  her  heart  made  no  comparisons. 

Since  she  had  smiled  at  her  brother  before  they  parted, 
her  lips  had  become  sad  and  stern.  There  was  no  one 
now  to  see  her  and  she  let  her  face  fall  into  lines  of 
trouble  and  anxiety.  Her  gaze  rested  persistently  on 
the  shabby  blue  cloth  cushions  of  the  fly  without  seeing 
their  dust  and  disrepair.  As  time  passed  the  lines  of 
her  face  became  more  rigid,  her  mouth  more  severe. 
There  was  a  stern  look  of  judgment  which,  happily  for 
themselves,  few  people  had  seen  on  her  face. 

They  were  amid  hedges  and  greenery  now  and  the 
young  lambs  bleated  in  the  pastures.  There  was  a 
smell  of  bean-fields  and  the  new  hay.  The  road  still 
wound  upwards.  If  Lady  Stella  had  looked  behind  her 
she  would  have  seen  the  great  beauty  of  the  long  valley 
that  spread  all  its  shining  length  to  the  salt  marshes 
and  the  sea,  but  to-day  Nature  made  her  sweet  appeal 
in  vain  to  a  heart  heavy  with  fears. 

The  fly  drew  up  midway  of  a  village,  opposite  a 
dangling  sign  with  three  pigeons  painted  on  it. 

"This    is   Wood-End,   ma'am,"  said    the    driver, 


TWO  WOMEN  237 

without  leaving  his  box  ;  "  and  yon's  the  Three  Jolly 
Pigeons.  Who  might  you  be  looking  for,  ma'am  ?  " 

Lady  Stella  beckoned  to  an  ostler,  who  was  carrying 
a  couple  of  pails  of  water  by  a  yoke  on  his  shoulders 
and  asked  him  if  he  could  direct  her  to  Mrs.  Simpson's 
house.  The  man  indicated  the  gables  of  a  cottage  not 
many  yards  away. 

"  I  will  get  down  here,"  she  said  to  the  driver,  open- 
ing the  door  of  the  fly.  "  I  shall  want  you  to  wait  for 
me.  Meanwhile,  as  I  do  not  know  how  long  I  may  be, 
you  had  better  put  up  and  feed  your  horse  and  get  a 
meal  for  yourself.  I  will  pay  when  I  come  back." 

The  man  looked  at  her  with  admiration,  and  re- 
marked afterwards  to  the  ostler  that  there  was  a  real  lady 
if  ever  there  was  one.  With  great  deliberation  he  took 
out  the  lean  horse  and  led  him  to  the  stables  across  the 
sunny  yard  where  the  real  pigeons  in  flocks  were  pick- 
ing up  corn  and  eating  it  daintily  in  the  sunshine. 
Since  the  lady  was  so  free  with  her  money  he  and  the 
horse  were  going  to  have  the  best  the  inn  could  afford. 
He  wondered  a  little  uneasily  if  the  lady  would  grumble 
at  his  beer,  in  addition  to  the  cold  roast  beef  and  salad, 
the  rhubarb  tart  and  cheese,  but  decided  that  "  that 
there  wasn't  a  lady  to  grumble,  not  if  he  knew." 

Meanwhile  Lady  Stella  had  opened  the  gate  of  the 
flowery,  bowery  garden — a  mass  of  roses  and  hollyhocks 
and  gillyflowers  and  pansies  and  stocks  and  sweet-peas 


238  DICK  PENTREATH 

in  front  of  the  cottage,  and  had  paused  at  the  cottage 
door,  which  stood  ajar.  There  was  a  sweet  odour  of 
strawberry -jam- making  in  addition  to  the  garden  spices. 
An  elderly  woman  with  rosy  cheeks  was  ironing  at  a 
table  within.  As  Lady  Stella's  shadow  came  in  the 
doorway  she  advanced  to  meet  her. 

"  Miss  Semple  is  staying  with  you  ? "  Lady  Stella 
said. 

The  woman  looked  at  her  in  uncertainty.  "  You'll 
be  a  friend  of  hers,  ma'am  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Yes  " — the  almost  imperceptible  pause  did  not  go 
unnoticed,  and  the  woman's  rosy  face  took  on  a  deeper 
shade  of  anxiety — "yes:  Lady  Stella  Gascoigne.  I 
have  come  from  London  to  see  her." 

"  She's  out  of  doors  now,  my  lady.  Won't  you  step 
inside  while  I  look  for  her  ? " 

Lady  Stella  shook  her  head.  The  clean,  bright 
cottage  did  not  invite  her ;  the  scent  of  the  strawberry- 
jam,  the  hot  smell  of  the  ironing,  were  wafted  in  her 
face.  She  was  not  afraid  that  Dorothea  would  refuse 
to  see  her :  she  did  her  so  much  justice. 

"  Let  me  find  her,"  she  said.  "  If  you  will  tell  me 
what  way  she  has  gone " 

The  woman  came  out  from  the  cottage  door  and 
looked  anxiously  into  Lady  Stella's  face.  What  she 
saw  there  did  not  reassure  her ;  and  Lady  Stella  had 
an  idea  that  if  she  could  she  would  have  denied  that 


TWO  WOMEN  239 

Dorothea  was  at  the  cottage.  Indeed,  she  looked  hither 
and  thither  in  a  frightened  way,  as  though  she  were 
minded  to  fly  and  give  Dorothea  warning. 

"  You  won't  be  hard  on  her,  ma'am  ? — I  mean  my 
lady,"  she  said.  "  I've  heard  of  you  from  Miss  Dolly. 
You're  a  friend  of  Mm — of  the  gentleman  she  was  to 
marry.  The  poor  lamb,  she  may  have  done  wrong,  but 
she'll  suffer  for  it.  She  always  was  one  to  suffer  after- 
wards." 

"  She  has  caused  terrible  suffering,"  Lady  Stella  said 
coldly. 

The  woman  made  an  ineffectual  movement  as  though 
to  go.  Lady  Stella  was  reminded  oddly  of  a  bird  that 
flutters  up  and  down  before  its  hidden  nest. 

"  Which  way  has  she  gone  ? "  she  asked,  in  the 
voice  which  few  people  could  refuse  to  obey. 

"  She  went  down  the  meadow — that  way,"  the  woman 
answered,  as  though  the  words  were  forced  from  her. 

Lady  Stella  took  the  way  indicated.  For  the 
moment  she  was  not  touched  by  the  nurse's  tenderness 
for  her  nursling,  although  she  was  one  to  feel  such  things. 

The  little  path  took  her  round  the  corner  of  the 
house,  past  the  beehives  and  beans  and  potatoes 
and  peas,  across  a  little  bridge  over  a  clear  stream, 
through  a  tiny  orchard,  and  into  a  meadow  where  the 
hay  had  been  newly  cut  and  put  up  in  cocks. 

When  she  had  reached  the  meadow  she  paused  for 


240  DICK   PENTBEATH 

an  instant  and  looked  about  her,  shading  her  eyes  with 
her  hand.  Ah,  there  across  the  field  there  was  a  bit 
of  light  blue,  revealing  itself  from  a  dark  shadow  of 
trees  flecked  with  sunlight. 

She  crossed  the  field  in  its  direction.  Presently  she 
was  able  to  make  out  Dorothea's  figure,  though  the 
face  was  turned  away  from  her.  There  was  no  mis- 
taking the  heavy  knot  of  pale  gold-coloured  hair  under 
the  big  straw  hat.  But  the  figure  had  a  listlessness,  a 
dejection,  which  was  a  new  thing  in  Dorothea. 

Lady  Stella  had  almost  reached  her  side,  when 
Dorothea  turned  round  and  saw  her.  She  put  out  her 
hand  and  then  withdrew  it.  Lady  Stella  did  not  offer 
to  take  it.  They  stood  a  moment  looking  at  each  other. 

A  sudden  red  had  surged  into  Dorothea's  cheek  and 
had  receded  leaving  her  paler  than  before.  There  were 
great  rings  about  her  eyes.  The  firm,  healthy  texture 
of  the  skin  seemed  to  have  become  flaccid ;  the  eyes 
were  tired.  Plainly,  Dorothea's  satisfaction  with  her- 
self had  had  time  to  wane. 

For  a  second  there  was  silence  between  the  two. 
Then  Lady  Stella  came  a  little  nearer.  She  looked  at 
Dorothea;  across  the  shimmering  pasture,  nearer  at 
the  cows,  knee-deep  in  water  in  the  shade  of  the  cop- 
pice that  gave  them  also  its  shade  where  they  were 
standing  by  the  gate  ;  then  back  again  at  Dorothea. 

"  I  trusted  you  with  Dick  Pentreath,"  she  said.     "  I 


TWO  WOMEN  241 

thought  God  sent  you.  I  thanked  God  that  you  were 
so  worthy — despite  your  youth.  How  have  you  repaid 
my  trust  ?  " 

It  did  not  strike  her  that  Dorothea  might  ask  her 
by  what  right  she  was  the  accuser ;  and,  indeed,  Doro- 
thea no  more  thought  of  asking  than  she  would  have 
asked  Dick's  angel  if  she  could  have  beheld  her  with 
the  eyes  of  the  body. 

For  a  second  she  was  sullen.  Her  lips  drooped  and 
hardened ;  a  gloomy  shadow  lay  upon  her  face  which 
was  almost  like  a  defilement  to  its  crystalline  clearness. 

"  He  was  horrible !  "  she  said.  "  If  you  knew  how 
horrible  he  was  you  wouldn't  misjudge  me.  He  was 
drunk.  He  behaved  as  a  drunken  man  does.  I  couldn't 
endure  the  thought  of  marrying  him  afterwards." 

Lady  Stella  looked  at  the  lowering  face ;  oddly 
enough,  the  youthfulness  came  out  in  it  now,  as  it  did 
not  in  its  beautiful  moments.  Dorothea  usually  looked 
too  old  for  her  years;  people  forgot  to  have  patience 
with  her  because  she  was  young,  and  had  many  things 
to  learn.  Lady  Stella  looked  at  the  sullen,  childish 
face,  the  lips  that  spoke  of  Dick's  transgression  as 
though  the  words  had  an  intolerable  flavour.  That 
epithet,  "  drunk,"  came  from  them  as  though  they 
repeated  a  foul  word.  Her  anger  evaporated  a  littler 

"  After  all,  he  was  Dick,"  she  said  simply. 

Dorothea  looked  at  her  with  an  amazed  consternation. 


242  DICK  PENTREATH 

"You  couldn't  think  I  wasn't  right?"  she  said. 
"  Not  if  you  were  there.  You  don't  know  the  things 
that  happened.  He  has  not  told  you  all ;  perhaps  he 
didn't  know  himself " 

"  He  has  told  me  nothing  ;  I  have  not  seen  him." 

There  was  a  note  of  calamity  in  her  voice  that 
reached  Dorothea  through  her  armour  of  self-righteous- 
ness. Had  Dick  gone  away,  and  were  Dick's  friends 
going  to  hold  her  accountable  for  anything  that  might 
befall  him  ?  She  remembered,  with  a  renewal  of  the 
wonder  she  had  felt  at  the  time,  how  Dick's  friends  had 
congratulated  her  with  obvious  sincerity,  and  Dick 
rather  on  the  occasion  than  on  his  choice,  with  good- 
will and  heartiness  indeed,  but  without  the  note  of 
tender,  personal  sincerity  which  was  in  their  congratu- 
lations to  her. 

Perhaps  it  was  true  that  Dick  had  spoilt  her.  The 
faintest  glimmer  of  it  came  in  her  mind,  Dick  had 
adored  her ;  had  looked  on  her  as  some  wonderful  white 
creature  from  another  sphere,  who  condescended  to 
tread  the  unworthy  earth,  who  must  be  praised  all 
her  days  for  stooping  to  a  mortal  man.  After  all, 
she  had  been  in  the  world  twenty-one  years  and  no 
one  had  thought  of  her  like  that  before ;  perhaps  no 
one  ever  would  again. 

"For  the  matter  of  that,"  Lady  Stella  went  on, 
"your  mother  was  there.  Your  little  sister,  Hilda, 


TWO  WOMEN  243 

was  there.  Neither  thinks  that  Dick  is  outside  the 
pale  of  love  and  respect." 

"  Mother  has  always  thought  I  was  too  sure  of  my- 
self; and  she  forgives  everything.  I  can't  imagine 
anything  she  wouldn't  forgive.  As  for  Hilda,  she  is 
only  a  child  and  a  very  odd  one.  Besides,  he  was  my 
— lover — not  theirs." 

"  Unhappily  for  him." 

Dorothea  turned  her  full,  wondering  gaze  for  the 
first  time  on  Lady  Stella. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  would  have  overlooked 
it  ? "  she  said. 

"If  I  loved  him." 

Dorothea  stared  for  a  moment.  Then  she  turned 
away  and,  leaning  her  elbow  on  the  gate,  rested  her 
cheek  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand. 

"  I  believe,"  she  said,  and  a  new  note  had  come  into 
her  voice,  "  that  I  did  not  love  him.  He  carried  me  off 
my  feet ;  he  overwhelmed  me.  But — perhaps  I  never 
looked  forward  to  our  marriage  as  I  would  have  done 
if  I  had  loved  him.  There  were  times  when — he 
repelled  me — when  I  did  not  want  to  think  of — our 
marriage.  Perhaps  he  never  gave  me  the  chance  to  love 
him  in  the  right  way.  It  might  have  done  with  some 
people — I  am  more  deliberate.  And  he  put  himself  at 
my  feet.  A  man  should  not  put  himself  at  a  girl's  feet 
if  he  wants  her  to  love  him  in  the  common,  human  way." 


244  DICK   PENTBEATH 

Lady  Stella  heard  her  with  amazement.  Was  she 
right  after  all  ?  Why,  if  that  was  so,  then  her  thoughts 
about  Dick  and  the  girl  who  was  to  be  the  angel  of  his 
mortal  life  had  had  no  foundation  at  all.  Dick  had 
been  bound  to  be  hurt  in  the  long  run  after  all.  So 
the  incredible  thing  had  happened;  Dick  had  loved 
and  had  not  been  loved.  The  wonder  of  it  almost  took 
away  her  breath.  Dick,  with  whom  any  woman  must 
have  been  in  love  if  he  had  willed  it !  Dick,  who 
attracted  women,  gentle  and  simple,  ignorantly,  without 
putting  forth  any  arts  to  woo  them,  by  the  mere  force 
of  his  gracious  and  charming  personality ! 

"  If  you  do  not  love  him,  to  be  sure,"  she  said,  in  a 
sober,  shocked  voice,  "  that  explains  it  all." 

"But  I  have  suffered — indeed  I  have  suffered," 
Dorothea  put  in  eagerly.  "  I  think  I  have  suffered,  in 
a  way,  almost  more  than  if  I  had  loved  him." 

"I  can  see  that  you  have  suffered,"  Lady  Stella 
said,  putting  away  the  last  assertion  with  a  movement 
of  her  hands ;  yet  her  voice  was  composed  and  gentle. 
"  And,  after  all,  if  you  did  not  love  him  he  was  bound 
to  suffer.  The  misfortune  was  that  he  should  have 
loved  you." 

There  it  was  again :  she,  Dorothea  was  nothing, 
less  than  nothing,  to  Dick's  friends.  She  was  only  an 
accident,  something  inessential,  except  in  so  far  as  she 
affected  Dick. 


TWO  WOMEN  245 

"I  have  nothing  to  reproach  you  with  after  all," 
Lady  Stella  said,  in  that  cold,  withdrawing  voice,  the 
gentleness  of  which  was  worse  than  anger.  "So  I 
shall  say  good-bye." 

"Ah,  you  are  angry  with  me,"  Dorothea  said  dis- 
piritedly. Nothing  had  happened  to  efface  the  im- 
pression Lady  Stella  had  made  on  her  imagination  at 
their  first  meeting,  which  had  strengthened  with  further 
meetings.  "  You  will  never  think  kindly  of  me  again." 

She  turned  and  walked  by  Lady  Stella's  side  across 
the  hayfield. 

"  I  would  go  home  if  I  were  you,"  Lady  Stella  said, 
with  the  same  cold  gentleness.  "  If  I  were  to  tell  your 
mother  what  you  have  told  me  she  would  not  be  in 
such  distress  over  the  rupture  of  your  engagement.  It 
is  all  perfectly  plain  to  me  now.  At  first  I  could  not 
understand." 

She  did  not  trouble  to  rebut  what  Dorothea  had 
said.  She  had  hardly  noticed  it  indeed.  After  that 
momentary  interest  in  what  seemed  like  the  stirring 
of  the  deeps  in  Dorothea  her  thoughts  had  ceased  to 
concern  themselves  with  the  girl  who  had  never  been 
for  one  moment  what  she  had  fancied  her  to  be,  the 
buckler  that  God  had  set  between  Dick  and  the  evil  of 
the  world. 

Dorothea  offered  her  food,  but  she  refused  it.  She 
could  have  a  meal  at  the  inn. 


246  DICK   PENTREATH 

All  this  time  Dorothea  had  not  asked  her  about 
Dick  and  suddenly  remembering  it  a  resentment 
sprang  up  in  her  breast.  She  leant  her  hand  on  the 
little  garden-gate  as  she  stood  outside  it.  She  could 
see  Mrs.  Simpson  watching  her  anxiously  between  the 
pots  of  musk  and  fuchsia  in  the  little  window  as 
though  she  feared  some  harm  to  her  foster-child.  She 
made  no  motion  to  offer  her  hand. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  that  when  I  came  here, 
although  I  was  bitterly  angry  with  you  yet  I  thought 
that  presently  I  might  be  very  sorry  for  you.  If  you 
had  loved  Dick  I  should  have  brought  you  suffering." 

Dorothea  looked  at  her  with  parted  lips.  "You 
have  bad  news  of  Dick  ? "  she  said. 

"  I  have  no  news  at  all.  He  has  gone  away  :  none 
of  us  knows  where.  If  you  had  loved  him  you  would 
have  been  terrified." 

"  And  not  loving  him  ?  "  said  Dorothea. 

Her  eyes  dilated  like  the  eyes  of  a  frightened  child ; 
lightened  and  darkened. 

Lady  Stella  remembered  that  look  at  intervals 
during  the  journey  from  Wood  End,  with  a  certain 
uneasiness.  She  had  not  meant  to  inflict  suffering. 
She  had  never  hurt  anything  willingly  in  her  life. 
Yet,  how  the  girl's  eyes  had  looked  ! 

"  Supposing  she  were  to  find  out  that  she  loved 
Dick  after  all ! "  she  said  to  herself. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   NEWS 

THE  Duke's  news  was  bad  enough.  He  stumbled  over 
the  telling  of  it  to  his  sister,  looking  away  from  her 
unhappily. 

"  Dick  was  at  the  farm  yesterday,"  he  said.  "  He 
must  have  gone  straight  there.  He  took  Susan  away 
with  him.  She  told  the  old  couple  that  she  was  going 
to  be  married.  She  would  put  in  a  farm-bailiff  to 
manage  the  place  for  her ;  but  she  herself  was  coming 
back  no  more." 

Even  at  the  moment  the  significance  of  Susan's 
action  as  an  index  to  her  character  struck  Lady  Stella. 
That  was  the  worst  of  being  an  intellectual  woman. 
There  was  no  preparation  for  a  trouble :  one  saw  every 
aspect  of  it  at  once. 

"  He  is  going  to  marry  her  ? " 

"  Being  Dick,  he  is,"  groaned  the  Duke.  "  No 
other  man  in  his  seven  senses  would  do  it.  But  Dick 
was  so  credulous  where  women  were  concerned.  He 

247 


248  DICK  PENTREATH 

was  bound  to  come  a  cropper  if  he  got  into  the  power 
of  an  unscrupulous  woman.  Dick  has  done  for  him- 
self with  a  vengeance." 

The  words  sounded  in  Lady  Stella's  ears  like  some- 
thing heard  long  ago,  in  another  life.  During  how 
many  lives  had  she  known  that  if  Dick  met  with  an 
unscrupulous  woman  he  was  bound,  in  the  man's 
phrase,  "to  come  a  cropper"?  Why,  it  was  no  new 
thing  that  had  happened.  It  was  something  written  in 
some  old  book  of  destiny  long  ago.  She  had  always 
known  it ;  and  she  had  taken  Dorothea  Semple  to  her 
heart,  careless  that  like  the  nightingale  she  pressed 
her  breast  upon  a  thorn,  because  in  Dorothea  Semple 
she  had  thought  to  see  the  one  that  should  stand 
between  Dick  and  the  misfortune,  a  catching  at  straws 
as  though  any  one  could  hope  to  turn  destiny  aside. 

"  He  will  be  ass  enough  to  marry  her.  I  am  sure 
of  that,"  the  Duke  said,  in  a  rage  that  was  the  measure 
of  his  concern. 

His  sister  looked  at  him  with  tragical  eyes.  She 
had  kept  the  old  faiths,  the  old  rules  of  conduct,  not 
formally  but  living,  in  her  heart.  Once  more  she  felt 
like  the  mother  of  St.  Louis  of  France  who  wished 
her  son  dead  rather  than  guilty  of  mortal  sin.  For  a 
moment  her  face  lightened.  Better  that  Dick  should 
dree  his  weird  of  suffering  and  be  innocent.  What 
was  the  wreckage  of  his  mortal  life,  dear  and  gracious 


THE  NEWS  249 

as  it  was,  measured  against  that  sin  which  has  no 
undoing  in  time  or  eternity,  which  not  even  the  Lord 
God  Himself  can  set  aside  once  it  is  done  ? 

"  If  he  has  taken  the  girl  away  he  will  certainly 
marry  her,"  she  said,  and.  there  was  almost  a  joyous 
ring  in  her  voice. 

The  Duke  got  up  and  walked  about  uneasily. 
There  were  things  he  had  never  discussed  with  his  sister, 
and  even  in  this  tense  moment  the  old  reluctance  held 
him. 

"Tell  me,"  said  Lady  Stella,  "just  this  once — 
afterwards  we  must  be  loyal  to  Dick's  wife  and  say  no 
more — what  is  there  against  her,  Arthur  ?  If  one  knows 
all  it  will  be  so  much  easier  for  one  to  help  Dick  and 

her." 

The  Duke  stared.  "  You  won't  be  able  to  help  her, 
Stella.  Don't  get  any  quixotic  stuff  into  your  head.  I 
know  very  little  of  Susan  beyond  what  the  other  men 
have  told  me.  I  don't  know  how  she  could  have  im- 
posed on  Dick.  She  is  coarse  and  sly.  She  oppressed 
her  old  parents.  She  is  mean  and  grasping.  Then,  she 
was  not  discreet  with  the  young  fellows.  I  heard  no 
positive  harm  of  her,  but  they  did  not  respect  her.  I 
gave  her  a  wide  berth  myself.  I  don't  know  how  poor 
Dick  could  have  been  so  deceived." 

"  It  would  have  been  better  to  have  told  him." 
"Dick  was  always  so  very  straight  where  women 


250  DICK    PENTREATH 

were  concerned.    No  one  specially  wanted  to  open  his 


There  was  nothing  more  to  be  done  in  London,  so 
they  went  back  by  a  morning  train  next  day.  There 
were  a  good  many  people  anxious  for  news  of  Dick,  but 
the  news  must  be  given  guardedly.  Let  Dick  announce 
his  marriage  in  his  own  time !  It  was  not  for  them  to 
prevent  the  nine  days'  wonder. 

"  We  have  heard  of  him,"  Lady  Stella  said,  in  reply 
to  the  anxious  inquiries.  "  Naturally  he  prefers  for  the 
moment  to  disappear  from  where  so  many  people  would 
be  sorry  for  him." 

People  suspected  that  Lady  Stella  was  in  Dick's 
confidence  and  asked  no  more.  One  and  all  were 
agreed  in  condemnation  of  Dorothea  Semple.  They 
had  never  thought  her  good  enough  for  Dick,  every- 
body's friend.  How  should  they,  indeed,  seeing  that 
they  had  been  sure  that  he  and  Lady  Stella  would 
marry  ?  Some  of  the  more  optimistic,  the  Misses 
Marshbanks  among  them,  were  pleased  that  Dick's 
engagement  was  broken  while  they  grieved  for  his 
suffering.  Perhaps,  after  all,  things  might  come  straight 
now ;  Dick  might  see  where  his  true  happiness  lay,  as 
his  friends  had  seen  it  long  ago.  After  all,  even  those 
who  had  been  fascinated  by  Mr.  Otto  Goldhawk  were 
not  willing  that  he  should  carry  off  the  prize  which 
they  had  designed  for  Dick's  winning. 


THE  NEWS  251 

Lady  Stella  guessed  at  the  thoughts  behind  the 
Misses  Marshbanks'  transparently  unconscious  faces. 
Miss  Eleanor  indeed  prided  herself  on  possessing  a 
legal  mind,  and  would  say  that  the  legal  acumen  which 
her  nephew  possessed  in  uncommon  degree,  even  if  he 
was  too  lazy  to  take  the  position  he  ought  to  have  done 
in  his  profession,  was  shared  by  herself.  Somewhere, 
far  back,  there  was  a  distinguished  lawyer  of  the 
Marshbanks  family.  Miss  Eleanor  would  point  to  his 
bewigged  portrait  and  ask  people  if  they  did  not  observe 
the  likeness  between  Sir  Hercules  and  herself  and 
Beauclerk.  People  were  not  often  inconsiderate  enough 
to  say  that  they  observed  no  likeness. 

Miss  Anne  patted  Lady  Stella  softly  on  the  back 
as  they  parted.  There  was  something  of  encouragement 
in  the  touch  of  the  kind  old  fingers. 

"  She  would  not  meet  my  eyes,  sister,"  she  said  to 
Miss  Eleanor.  "  She  takes  Dick  Pentreath's  trouble  too 
much  to  heart  to  think  of  what  it  may  mean  to  herself." 

"  We  have  had  too  many  foreigners  in  our  midst," 
Miss  Eleanor  said,  forgetting  how  Otto  Goldhawk  had 
broken  down  her  unfriendliness.  "  There  never  was  a 
time  when  our  own  little  set  here — with,  of  course,  our 
dear  boy,  Beau — did  not  seem  to  me  to  contain  all  the 
elements  needed  to  make  up  human  happiness.  I  am 
glad  Dick  is  not  to  marry  a  foreigner,  by  which  I  mean 
a  Londoner  at  this  moment.  And  Stella  certainly  does 


252  DICK   PENTREATH 

look  ill,  as  though  she  had  sleepless  nights.  She  thinks 
only  of  Dick's  unhappiness,  noble  creature !  and  is  as 
ill  at  ease  as  his  dog." 

Only  to  Sancho  could  Lady  Stella  tell  all  that  was 
in  her  heart.  In  his  master's  absence  he  had  attached 
himself  to  her,  only  returning  now  and  again  to  Oak- 
hurst  when  a  sudden  irrational  hope  would  seize  him 
that  the  master  had  come  home. 

Lady  Stella  always  knew  when  he  was  seized  with 
this  hope.  No  matter  what  time  of  day  or  night  it 
was — once,  indeed,  she  unbarred  the  door  for  him  in 
the  grey  dawn  of  the  morning — she  would  let  him  go ; 
and  he  would  come  back  to  her  after  a  few  hours,  more 
dispirited  than  ever.  For  the  rest  of  the  time  they 
were  always  together. 

July  is  sultry  in  Surrey.  This  year  it  was  more 
than  ever  sultry ;  and  it  was  hardly  possible  to  get  the 
fresh  air,  unless  one  could  climb  to  the  top  of  the  hill, 
high  above  the  chimneys  of  The  Place,  over  the  broken 
cliff  of  yellow  clay,  to  that  point  of  vantage  whence  one 
sees  many  countries. 

A  good  many  people  remained  in  Surrey  however 
sultry  it  was,  holding  with  Miss  Eleanor  Marshbanks 
that  there  was  enough  there  of  diversity  and  delight 
for  human  happiness.  To  be  sure  it  was  more  beautiful 
than  ever,  with  the  majesty  of  its  great  trees  in  their 
summer  darkness  dotting  the  parks  and  glooming  on 


THE  NEWS  253 

the  horizon  in  innumerable  woods.  The  corn  was 
turning  yellow  now  and  the  heather  was  out  on  the 
purple  hill.  In  a  fortnight  or  so  there  would  be  little 
gaps  in  the  county  society.  The  Squire  would  be  gone 
to  Scotland  for  the  grouse-shooting,  and  Mrs.  Ludlow 
and  her  boy  would  be  paying  their  annual  visit  to  the 
boy's  maternal  grandmother  in  the  Isle  of  Wight.  Two 
or  three  elderly  gentlemen  would  be  off  to  the  foreign 
cures,  to  Carlsbad  or  Homburg. 

The  Duke  was  gone  yachting.  He  had  been  very 
unwilling  to  go  without  his  sister's  company,  but  she 
would  not  be  moved.  While  there  was  the  uncertainty 
about  Dick,  she  could  not  go. 

She  had  received  and  answered  a  letter  from  Mrs. 
Semple  which  asked  if  there  was  any  news  of  Dick. 
The  letter  mentioned  that  Dorothea  had  returned,  and 
had  thrown  herself  into  charitable  work  with  a  desperate 
energy. 

"There  is  a  change  in  her,"  the  mother  said,  in 
wistful  deprecation  of  the  anger  of  Dick's  friends 
against  Dorothea.  "  She  looks  unhappy.  She  has  left 
her  childhood  behind  her.  She  says  nothing  of  him, 
and  we  do  our  best  not  to  recall  things  to  her.  Even 
her  father's  indignation  has  melted.  There  is  a  new 
sweetness  and  humility  about  her.  I  believe  she  re- 
pents. I  wish  he  might  know  that  she  was  not  so 
merciless  as  she  thought." 


254  DICK   PENTREATH 

"  Too  late,"  Lady  Stella  said  to  herself,  putting  the 
letter  away.  Unlikely  now  that  she  could  ever  show 
it  to  Dick  as  she  had  an  idea  she  was  meant  to  do. 

She  visited  Oakhurst  little.  The  hopefulness  with 
which  the  old  servants  looked  up  at  her  coming,  their 
fallen  faces  when  they  realized  that  she  had  no  news, 
distressed  her  tender  heart.  She  had  a  feeling  as 
though  she  had  no  right  to  deceive  them;  and  yet, 
they  would  know  soon  enough.  When  she  went  there 
she  came  away  from  the  sunny  old  house  among  the 
fields,  drowsing  in  the  summer  sweetness  of  its  gardens, 
all  its  windows  open  to  the  summer  wind,  with  a  guilty 
sense  of  her  knowledge  of  the  degradation  that  was 
coming  to  it. 

She  used  to  climb  the  hill  with  Sancho  for  her 
companion,  taking  the  field-path  so  that  she  need  not 
pass  under  the  Spanish  chestnuts  behind  which  The 
Place  stood  and  risk  meeting  with  her  kind  old 
friends. 

At  the  top  of  the  hill  she  would  find  a  nook  amid 
the  gorse  and  heather  into  which  she  might  sink  and 
take  the  dog's  head  on  her  lap.  He  was  her  only 
confidant  of  these  sad  days.  With  him  her  defences 
might  be  down;  the  assumed  unconcern  with  which 
she  had  to  hide  her  knowledge  of  Dick's  affairs  from 
their  friendly  world  might  be  allowed  to  drop  away. 
It  gave  her  a  sense  of  relief  from  physical  strain  that 


THE  NEWS  255 

with  Sancho,  out  on  the  hillside,  she  could  relax  the 
calm  of  her  face  and  allow  it  to  drop  into  lines  and 
furrows  of  grief.  She  and  the  dog  could  look  their 
anguish  into  each  other's  eyes.  They  could  comfort 
each  other  so  far  as  comfort  was  possible. 

Once,  as  they  went  homeward  along  a  grassy  lane, 
the  sound  of  carriage- wheels  made  Lady  Stella  turn 
aside  into  the  open  woods  to  avoid  a  possible  meeting. 
She  was  unsociable  these  days  and  shrank  from  the 
inevitable  questions  about  Dick.  The  wide  barouche 
came  along  behind  its  pair  of  beautiful  bays.  There 
were  two  ladies  in  the  carriage — Mrs.  Stiles,  and — 
yes,  Mabel  Kingscote.  Things  had  apparently  been 
travelling  fast  during  these  last  few  weeks.  A  glance 
at  the  girl's  face  told  Lady  Stella,  hidden  in  her  sylvan 
recess,  that  Mabel  was  happy  enough.  To  be  sure,  it 
was  wonderful  promotion  for  the  Kingscotes!  What 
it  must  mean  to  all  of  them— the  cheerful,  contriving, 
fond  old  grandmother ;  the  soldier  father  who  only  saw 
his  children  in  brief  glimpses  of  leave ;  the  little  anxious 
mother ! 

When  the  carriage  had  rolled  on,  brushing  the 
leafy  branches  to  either  side  of  the  grassy  lane  which 
it  so  filled  that  any  foot-traveller  must  have  stepped 
into  the  wood  to  avoid  it,  Lady  Stella  returned  to  the 
road.  She  stooped  and  whispered  to  the  dog,  lifting 
one  of  his  silky  ears. 


256  DICK   PENTREATH 

"  She  has  forgotten,  Sancho,"  she  said.  "  After  all, 
it  did  not  go  very  deep.  We  must  think  of  our 
wedding-present,  Sancho.  But  what  to  give  to  Mrs. 
Harold  Stiles  that  Fortune  will  not  have  already  flung 
into  her  lap ! " 

The  next  day  she  turned  back  on  her  way  to  the 
hill.  She  had  a  sudden  impulse  to  go  see  Mrs. 
Maidment  instead.  Perhaps  there  would  be  some 
news.  Four  weeks  had  gone  by  since  the  day  that 
was  to  have  been  Dick's  wedding-day.  There  must 
be  news  of  him  soon.  Oakhurst  was  not  a  thing  to  be 
shed  like  an  old  garment. 

She  retraced  her  steps,  taking  the  path  across  the 
farm  adjoining  the  Manor  House  which  brought  her 
out  at  the  end  of  the  village  nearest  Oakhurst.  As 
she  came  out  in  the  high-road  she  met  Mr.  Nigel  and 
stopped  to  speak  to  him.  Plainly  enough  he  knew 
about  Mabel  Kingscote's  advancement  in  life.  The 
little  man  looked  very  sad. 

"I  am  leaving  Greenheys,  Lady  Stella,"  he  said, 
stammering.  "As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  place  never 
was  quite  what  I  wanted.  A  more  extended  sphere 
of  work — Mr.  Arbuthnot  has  been  most  kind  about  it 
— is  something  I  have  always  wished  for.  I  have  heard 
of  a  curacy  in  Manchester ;  a  friend  of  Mr.  Arbuthnot's 
is  vicar " 

"I  am  so  sorry,"  said  Lady  Stella,  the  kindness 


THE  NEWS  257 

that  was  like  a  benediction  overspreading  her  face. 
"We  shall  miss  you  so  much,  Mr.  Nigel.  And  how 
is  the  cricket  to  get  on  ?  I  am  sure  every  one  will  be 
very  sorry." 

"  I  shall  always  remember  Greenheys,"  the  curate 
said  gratefully,  "and  the  many  kind  friends  I  have 
found  there.  I'm  afraid  I  shall  not  have  time  for 
many  farewells.  In  fact,  I  leave  in  a  few  days.  Mr. 
Arbuthnot  has  very  kindly  consented  to  my  going  at 
once.  I  should  like  to  know,  Lady  Stella,  if — there 
is  any  news  of  Mr.  Pentreath." 

"  There  is  no  news,"  Lady  Stella  said  gently — "at 
least,  not  so  far  as  I  know.  I  am  on  my  way  to  Oak- 
hurst  to  ask  if  there  is  any  word." 

"  Ah,  well,  I  hope  the  news,  when  it  comes,  will  be 
good  news.  He  is  a  charming  fellow.  It  hardly  seems 
right  that  such  as  he  should  suffer  and  be  sad;  he 
made  brightness  for  so  many  people." 

With  a  nervous  pressure  of  Lady  Stella's  hand  he 
moved  off,  and  she  stood  an  instant  looking  after  him. 

"  I  am  glad  he  is  going  away,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"  since  there  is  nothing  for  him  to  do  here.  He  will 
forget  his  trouble  in  work." 

There  had  been  a  sympathetic  intelligence  in  the 
little  man's  eyes  when  he  had  looked  at  her  of  which 
he  was  absolutely  unconscious,  which,  oddly  enough, 
she  did  not  resent.  His  own  unhappiness  had  looked 

8 


258  DICK  PENTREATH 

at  her  out  of  his  soul  and  had  greeted  her  unhappiness 
as  a  kindred  sorrow. 

There  was  news,  after  all,  at  Oakhurst.  Mrs. 
Maidment  came  to  meet  her  with  a  face  still  pale, 
holding  a  letter  in  her  hand. 

"  This  came  an  hour  ago,  my  lady,"  she  said. 
"  Our  Mr.  Dick  is  married.  They  are  coming  home. 
What  does  it  mean  ?  Can  he  have  married  the  lady, 
after  all  ? " 

"I'm  afraid  it  is  not  the  lady,  Maidment,"  Lady 
Stella  said,  taking  the  letter  from  her  hand.  She  felt 
as  though  she  had  known  it  all  her  life. 

It  was  a  more  formal  letter  than  Dick  had  ever 
written  before.  The  sentences  were  cut  and  dried  in 
their  attempt  at  precision.  One  would  have  said  that 
the  letter  desired  to  give  as  little  information  as  was 
possible  beyond  conveying  the  fact  of  the  return. 

"MRS.  MAIDMENT, 

"  Mrs.  Pentreath  and  I  will  arrive  at  Green- 
heys  station  at  5.30  on  Monday.  I  shall  expect  the 
brougham  and  the  cart  for  the  luggage. 

"RICHARD  PENTREATH." 

"  I  can  scarcely  believe  he  wrote  it,"  Mrs.  Maidment 
said,  looking  at  Lady  Stella  in  a  scared  way.  "  To  be 
sure  'tis  the  way  gentlemen  write  to  their  servants,  and 


THE  NEWS  259 

I  hope  I  know  ray  place ;  but  '  Mrs.  Maidment,'  it 
never  was  with  him,  nor  yet  '  Richard  Pentreath,'  but 
'  old  Maidie,'  and  '  your  loving,  Master  Dick.'  What- 
ever is  it  for  ?  And  if  it  isn't  the  lady,  my  lady,  who 
is  it  ?  " 

"We  will  know  on  Monday,"  Lady  Stella  said, 
heavy-hearted.  The  sight  of  the  schoolboy  hand- 
writing had  seemed  to  bring  Dick  near.  "  It  wants  but 
two  days  of  Monday." 

"  I'm  tired  of  waiting,"  the  old  woman  said,  with  a 
sigh.  "  And  there's  another  matter.  What  room  am  I 
to  make  ready  for  Mrs.  Pentreath  ?  The  Bride's  Room 
should  be  hers  by  right ;  yet  when  I  think  on  the  fuss 
he  made  a  few  weeks  ago  over  that  room  and  how 
happy  he  was,  I  can't  somehow  think  that  he'd  wish  it 
for  another  lady." 

"  I  should  give  her  the  Blue  Room,"  Lady  Stella 
said.  She  knew  Oakhurst  within  and  without  as 
though  it  was  her  home.  "  I  should  give  her  the  Blue 
Room.  Afterwards,  if  he  wishes  any  change,  or  she 
wishes  it,  they  can  let  you  know." 

"  I  never  heard  of  such  doings,"  the  old  woman  said, 
applying  the  corner  of  her  apron  to  her  eyes.  "  First 
one  bride,  and  then  another,  and  not  five  weeks  gone 
by ;  and  Master  Dick  that  always  knew  his  own  mind 
and  was  faithful  to  them  he  loved  from  a  child.  And 
look  at  Sancho,  my  lady  !  He  knows  the  master's  coming 


260  DICK  PENTEEATH 

home,  for  he  knows  every  word  that's  said  about  him ; 
but  it's  little  joy  he  gets  from  it." 

It  was  true.  Sancho  had  flung  himself  on  the 
ground,  with  a  heavy  sigh,  and  was  watching  them,  his 
nose  extended  on  his  paws,  with  a  melancholy  eye. 

"  I  couldn't  have  put  up  with  the  dog  here  of  late," 
old  Maidment  said.  "  I  believe  he  knows  more  about 
the  master  than  any  of  us ;  and  look  at  him  now,  my 
lady !  Wouldn't  you  say  poor  Master  Dick  was 
dead?" 

Lady  Stella  had  a  sad  wonder  whether,  after  all,  it 
would  not  have  been  better  if  Dick  were  dead  in  his 
happy  youth. 


CHAPTEE  XXI 

THE  BEIDE   COMES   HOME 

ALL  the  lilies  were  out  in  the  garden  the  day  Dick 
came  home. 

The  old  servants  had  gathered  them  and  set  them 
in  shining  stacks  about  the  dim  rooms.  Heavy-hearted 
as  they  were,  they  had  neglected  nothing  to  make  the 
welcome  what  it  ought  to  be.  Mrs.  Maidment  had 
done  her  best  with  the  dinner.  Dick's  coachman,  Brew, 
who  was  also  stable-helper,  and  groom,  and  twenty 
other  things,  went  to  the  station  with  a  rose  in  his  coat. 

If  the  staff  at  Oakhurst  was  small  the  servants  had 
their  traditions.  They  were  drawn  up  in  the  hall  to 
welcome  the  bride  as  though  there  had  been  a  score  of 
them.  Sancho,  who  had  been  restless  all  day,  wandered 
in  and  out,  whining  to  himself  as  he  went,  now  stretch- 
ing himself  along  the  black  and  white  marble  squares 
of  the  hall  for  a  few  minutes,  again,  getting  up  and 
wandering  through  the  rooms  and  out  into  the  sunlight. 

At  last  there  was  the  sound  of  the  carriage  wheels 

261 


262  DICK  PENTREATH 

and  presently  the  brougham  an  old-fashioned  thing, 
which  had  lain  unused  from  the  death  of  the  last  Mrs. 
Pentreath  till  Dick  had  had  it  upholstered  in  delicate 
light  green  for  Dorothea,  drew  up  in  front  of  the  open 
hall-door. 

Dick  jumped  out  first,  and  held  his  hand  for  the 
bride  to  alight.  Despite  their  training,  the  old  servants, 
except  Mrs.  Maidment,  craned  their  heads  a  little  for- 
ward. For  a  moment  Dick  stood  between  them  and 
the  bride.  Then  he  turned  about.  He  had  offered  her  a 
ceremonious  arm ;  but  she  had  rejected  it  with  a  light 
coarse  laugh.  She  came  into  the  hall,. with  an  insolent 
glance  at  the  servants  and  a  twirl  of  her  pink  silk  petti- 
coat under  her  dress  of  brilliant  cornflower  blue.  Her  big 
hat  was  tied  with  pink  ribbons  under  her  chin.  Eoses 
nodded  over  the  edge  of  it.  It  would  have  been  a 
charming  hat  on  a  face  of  young  modesty.  On  Susan 
it  was  as  incongruous  as  the  rest  of  her  finery. 

In  her  print  dairymaid  gowns,  with  the  pale  lashes 
drooped  over  her  bold  eyes,  Susan  had  been  attractive 
enough.  Now,  here  was  Blowsabella  in  the  Princess's 
gown,  and  suffering  from  the  incongruity.  Susan  was 
flushed  too  beyond  her  wont,  a  dark,  unbecoming  flush. 
She  glanced  over  the  servants  as  though  the  light  of 
battle  already  kindled  in  her  eye. 

Dick,  very  pale,  turned  to  Mrs.  Maidment  with  the 
intention  of  presenting  her  to  the  bride,  but  Susan 


THE   BRIDE   COMES   HOME  263 

with  a  flounce  of  her  head  had  passed  on  to  the  open 
drawing-room  door. 

She  had  not  time  to  pass  through  it  before  Sancho 
met  her  in  full  flight  to  his  master.  He  all  but 
knocked  her  over  in  his  rush  through  the  doorway. 

She  sprang  to  one  side  with  a  shriek. 

"  So  you  have  that  brute  still,"  she  said,  the  flush 
deserting  her  cheeks  for  a  moment.  "  You'd  better  get 
rid  of  him." 

For  the  moment  she  was  unheard.  Sancho  in  a 
dumb  ecstasy  was  fawning  on  the  master.  Dick  had 
held  out  one  hand  to  old  Maidment.  The  other 
fondled  the  dog.  There  was  a  film  over  his  eyes  which 
no  one  had  ever  seen  there  before.  Behind  it  the  eyes 
were  strange  and  wild.  The  madness  which  had  made 
him  marry  Susan  had  not  yet  left  him. 

"  Do  you  hear  me  ?  "  said  Susan,  turning  about  at 
the  drawing-room  door.  "  When  are  you  going  to  get 
rid  of  that  brute  ?  You  know  my  life  is  not  safe  for 
him." 

"  Sancho  is  perfectly  gentle,"  Dick  said,  in  measured 
tones. 

Then  he  followed  the  bride  into  the  drawing-room 
and  closed  the  door. 

A  little  later  Susan,  her  good-humour  somewhat 
restored,  was  surveying  her  new  domain.  She  had 
changed  her  gay  travelling-dress  for  a  tea-gown  of 


264  DICK   PENTBEATH 

flowered  brocade,  out  of  the  lace  sleeves  of  which  her 
red  toil-worn  hands  looked  oddly.  In  those  braveries 
which  she  had  acquired  lavishly  since  her  wedding 
Susan  looked  like  nothing  so  much  as  a  servant  mas- 
querading in  her  mistress's  clothes. 

After  the  first  ecstasies  of  greeting  Sancho  had 
crept  away  quietly  till  the  master  should  be  ready  for 
him,  and  was  lying  on  the  grass  in  front  of  the  hall- 
door  with  a  wistful  eye  watching  for  the  one  who  made 
his  sunshine.  Dick  noticed  him  there  as  he  came 
down  the  stairs  and  would  have  joined  him,  but  the 
bride  summoned  him  imperiously  to  show  her  the 
house  and  he  submitted. 

Something  of  relief  had  come  to  his  face  when 
having  asked  Mrs.  Maidment  what  room  she  had  made 
ready  for  Mrs.  Pentreath  he  had  been  told  the  Blue 
Room.  Susan  had  been  pleased  to  approve  of  the 
choice,  the  Blue  Room  being  the  most  finely  furnished 
of  the  bedrooms. 

She  looked  into  the  Bride's  Room  with  a  disparaging 
eye.  She  knew  nothing  of  old  chintz  and  the  hang- 
ings to  her  were  something  to  be  bought  at  one  shilling 
and  three  halfpence  the  yard,  not  to  be  compared  with 
the  heavy  silvered  damask  of  the  Blue  Room.  Mrs. 
Maidment  had  put  away  the  priceless  Dresden  which 
Dick  had  set  out  for  Dorothea.  The  old  Persian  rugs 
on  the  polished  floor  were  threadbare  things  to  Susan ; 


THE  BRIDE  COMES  HOME        265 

in  the  Blue  Room  there  was  a  fine  Axminster.  The 
wardrobe  in  the  Blue  Room  had  a  stretch  of  looking- 
glass  in  which  Susan  could  see  herself  from  her  toes 
to  the  tip  of  her  exaggerated  osprey.  She  had  some- 
thing disparaging  to  say  about  the  conch-shell  glass  of 
the  best  Sheraton  period  which  adorned  the  Bride's 
Room. 

Dick  drew  a  long  breath  as  she  closed  the  door  of 
the  room  behind  her  and  came  out  into  the  sunny 
corridor  where  he  awaited  her. 

"  I  won't  say  but  what  the  place  is  clean,"  she  said. 
She  had  been  running  the  tips  of  her  fingers  along  the 
backs  of  mantelshelves  and  such  places  where  dust 
might  lurk.  "  Still,  you've  got  a  lot  of  idle  servants 
eating  their  heads  off.  We  could  do  with  less.  They've 
had  a  fine  time  of  it,  I've  no  doubt " — her  laugh,  for 
Susan,  was  quite  good-natured — "  but  they'll  soon  find 
out  that  things  are  changed.  They  won't  humbug 
me." 

"I  won't  have  the  servants  meddled  with,"  said 
Dick,  quietly. 

"  Hoity-toity !  "  said  Susan.  "  You're  master,  but 
I'm  mistress  now." 

Still,  she  had  learned  already  not  to  go  too  far  with 
Dick ;  and  although  her  words  were  brave  she  said  no 
more.  There  were  other  ways  of  getting  servants  to 
go  besides  giving  them  notice. 


266  DICK  PENTREATH 

"  They  won't  know  themselves  when  I'm  done  with 
them,"  Susan  said  to  herself  in  grim  enjoyment. 

She  was  really  inordinately  delighted  with  the 
house.  How  she  was  going  to  keep  her  hands  from 
polishing  the  old  furniture  and  the  old  brasses  she  did 
not  know.  Of  course  she  would  have  to  refraiu.  She 
was  a  lady  now  and  she  was  going  to  ring  the  bell  if 
she  so  much  as  dropped  her  pocket-handkerchief.  But 
she  was  not  going  to  let  Dick  see  that  she  felt  her 
promotion,  so  she  disparaged  things.  She  would  have 
liked  some  of  the  gilt  furniture  of  which  they  had 
seen  so  much  in  Paris.  The  carpets  were  dingy.  The 
chintzes  of  the  drawing-room  displeased  Susan's  eye. 
Why  not  a  good  tapestry  ?  It  would  save  a  deal  in 
washing.  And  she  was  sure  she  would  break  her  leg 
on  the  polished  floor.  Why  not  a  good  Brussels  to 
cover  it  ?  There  were  too  many  books :  they  were 
nothing  but  dust-traps.  Some  of  the  pictures  were 
so  dim  that  she  could  make  neither  head  nor  tail  of 
them. 

When  they  had  come  to  the  door  leading  to  the 
kitchen  premises  Dick  stopped. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  wait  till  morning  ? "  he  sug- 
gested. "  Maidment  will  be  busy  with  the  dinner." 

"  I'll  just  see,"  Susan  said.  "  There's  a  deal  will 
have  to  wait  till  the  morning;  but  I'd  like  to  look 
round  to-night.  You're  coming  with  me  ? " 


THE  BRIDE  COMES  HOME  267 

"No,  thank  you.  You'll  find  me  on  the  lawn  if 
you  want  me." 

With  a  feeling  of  relief  which  was  somewhat 
chequered  by  wonder  as  to  what  Susan  might  be  doing 
in  the  kitchen  regions,  Dick  strolled  out  on  the  lawn, 
where  he  was  at  once  joined  by  Sancho. 

He  found  a  seat  the  other  side  of  a  yew  hedge  and 
sat  down,  Sancho  establishing  himself  in  the  old 
familiar  attitude  with  his  head  on  Dick's  knee.  Dick 
produced  a  cigar  and  lit  it  and  the  blue  smoke  floated 
up  in  the  golden  evening  air.  The  rooks  were  coming 
home  now  in  a  solid  phalanx  to  the  rookery  at  the 
back  of  the  house.  Their  cawing  was  the  only  sound. 
The  songs  of  the  birds  were  over.  There  was  an  air 
of  cessation  on  the  country,  the  pause  between  mowing 
and  reaping  time.  In  the  strong,  rich  light  even  the 
grass  was  golden,  although  the  trees  made  ebony 
patches  of  shade.  There  would  be  dew  to-night  from 
the  clear  sky.  By  morning  the  grass  would  be  gray  as 
an  old  man's  beard  with  it.  Coolness  had  come  after 
the  heat  of  the  day.  Amid  the  box  borders  and  against 
the  dark  trees  the  late  roses  and  the  lilies  were  like 
lamps  of  fire  and  silver. 

Dick's  hand  caressed  the  dog's  head.  Eye  spoke 
to  eye. 

"  You  will  have  to  keep  out  of  her  way,"  said  Dick, 
in  a  low  murmur  which  Sancho  strained  to  understand. 


268  DICK  PENTREATH 

"  It  will  be  like  nothing  you  have  been  used  to,  for 
every  one  has  been  fond  of  you  and  proud  of  you.  But 
you  must  learn  for  all  our  sakes.  She  does  not  like 
you,  old  dog,  and  you  do  not  like  her.  Perhaps  you 
were  right  after  all,  Sancho,  when  you  would  have 
none  of  her.  But  now  I  have  delivered  you  over  to 
her,  old  fellow,  as  I  have  delivered  over  Oakhurst  and 
the  servants — and  myself.  We  must  make  the  best  of 
it,  Sancho ;  we  must  make  the  best  of  it." 

Sancho  thumped  his  tail  encouragingly.  So  long 
as  he  might  be  near  the  master  he  was  prepared  to 
make  the  best  of  anything — even  of  Susan. 

They  were  not  long  left  together.  Susan  came 
trailing  her  fine  gown  across  the  grass,  discovering 
them  by  the  scent  of  Dick's  cigar.  Dick  was  still 
talking  to  Sancho  as  he  always  talked  when  they 
were  alone ;  but,  fortunately,  Susan  did  not  hear 
the  end  of  the  monologue,  and  when  she  sat  down  by 
Dick  on  the  seat  cut  in  the  yew  hedge,  Sancho  went 
away. 

"  That's  a  good  cigar,"  she  said,  inhaling  the  aroma 
into  her  very  open  nostrils.  "  It  reminds  me  of — 
pleasant  things.  I  suppose  the  Duke  will  be  bringing 
his  sister  to  call.  And  there  will  be  the  other  fellows." 
Dick  winced.  "How  different  it  will  be,  me  at  the 
head  of  the  table  when  they  come  to  dinner,  that  used 
to  wait  on  them  !  " 


THE  BRIDE  COMES  HOME  269 

"  Every  one  is  away  probably  just  now,"  Dick  said 
coldly. 

"We  needn't  have  come  back  yet,"  Susan  sighed 
regretfully.  "  I  hadn't  half  seen  Paris.  There  !  This 
does  seem  a  dull  place  after  Paris.  Not  that  I  mean 
to  say  anything  against  your  house,  Dick ;  but  we 
might  have  been  sitting  down  to  our  dinner  outside 
one  of  those  little  cafe  places " 

Fortunately,  at  this  moment  the  dinner-bell  rang. 

"  I  declare  I'm  hungry,"  said  Susan,  springing  to 
her  feet.  "  And,  what's  more,  I'm  thirsty.  I'd  like  a 
long  German  lagger  just  this  minute ;  but  I  suppose  it 
isn't  to  be  had." 

"I'm  afraid  not,"  Dick  said,  submitting  to  the 
jollity  with  which  Susan  thrust  her  hand  through  his 
arm  and  pulled  him  forward.  "  You'll  have  to  be 
content  with  what  the  Oakhurst  cellar  can  provide." 

"  I  hope  there's  a  bottle  of  fizz  in  it,"  said  Susan. 
"  Let  us  see  if  there  is ;  and  hang  the  expense !  Hasn't 
the  bride  come  home  ? " 

Susan  had  her  bottle  of  "fizz,"  which  was  left  to 
her  by  her  silent  bridegroom.  As  the  dinner  pro- 
gressed she  did  the  talking  for  two.  Now  and  again 
she  indulged  in  sallies  that  brought  a  bewildered  look 
to  the  face  of  Eliza  who  was  waiting.  After  a  time, 
Eliza  dismissed  Sarah  Ann,  the  young  housemaid  who 
was  assisting  her  to  wait. 


270  DICK  PENTREATH 

"The  new  mistress  is  free  with  her  tongue,"  she 
explained  afterwards  to  Mrs.  Maidment.  "  It  don't  do 
to  have  young  people  like  Sarah  Ann  misjudging  of 
their  betters.  I  don't  suppose  she  means  no  harm ; 
but  she  is  free." 

Dick  seemed  abstracted ;  lost  to  what  was  going  on 
around  him.  Susan's  sallies  passed  him  by  unnoticed 
even  when  they  were  directed  at  him.  He  treated  her 
with  a  cold  politeness  that  left  none  of  her  wants  dis- 
regarded ;  but  beyond  that  he  seemed  to  have  nothing 
to  say  to  her.  It  was  impossible  to  tell  what  he  was 
feeling. 

The  dinner-hour  seemed  to  draw  out  unduly  long. 
Dick  never  was  one  for  sitting  over  his  wine,  but  at 
length  he  stood  up  unasked,  and  held  the  door  open 
ceremoniously  for  Susan  to  leave  the  dining-room. 

"  Oh,  hang  all  that ! "  said  Susan,  whose  face  had 
received  an  accession  of  colour.  "I'll  just  light  up 
here." 

Eliza  was  unable  to  tell  Mrs.  Maidment  for  some 
time  of  this  incident,  and  of  how  Mrs.  Pentreath  had 
taken  out  a  cigarette-case  and  lit  her  cigarette  like  a 
gentleman.  Eliza  was  quite  overcome  at  seeing  it. 
The  master  had  merely  said,  "  Oh,  just  as  you  like," 
and  returned  to  his  place  at  the  table.  Susan  had  been 
an  apt  pupil  of  Mr.  Teddy  Casaubon  and  the  other  lads, 
and  could  smoke  cigarettes  now  with  any  one.  When 


THE   BRIDE  COMES  HOME  271 

Dick  had  discovered  this  accomplishment  of  hers  he 
had  had  a  passing  wonder  as  to  how  she  had  learned 
it,  but  he  had  asked  her  no  questions  about  it.  As 
he  sat  in  the  light  of  the  wax  candles,  pale  in  his 
evening  clothes,  looking  across  at  Susan,  he  noticed  her 
smile  broadly.  The  smile  was  caused  by  a  reminiscence 
of  Teddy  Casaubon's  ways  as  he  gave  a  light  to  Susan. 
But  that  was  a  reminiscence  she  did  not  share  with  her 
husband. 

She  smoked  interminable  cigarettes  till  it  was  bed- 
time. To  be  sure  she  had  to  amuse  herself,  since  Dick, 
with  a  muttered  apology  about  an  accumulation  of 
letters,  had  retired  to  his  own  den.  She  picked  out  a 
music-hall  song  on  the  piano.  She  found  a  bundle  of 
penny  novelettes  which  she  had  brought  down  with 
her  and  read  an  instalment  of  a  thrilling  serial.  Susan 
was  soon  at  the  end  of  her  resources.  She  remembered 
how  Teddy  Casaubon  had  taught  her  ecarte  when  the 
others  were  out  after  wild  duck  and  Teddy  was  sup- 
posed to  be  painting  a  bit  of  the  Dutch  landscape, 
under  a  stormy  winter  evening  sky.  She  wished  she 
had  Teddy  now  and  the  cards.  But  Teddy  was  far 
away  and  she  didn't  suppose  there  was  a  pack  of  cards 
to  be  found  in  Oakhurst.  She  yawned,  thinking  that 
perhaps  she  had  not  done  so  fine  a  thing  after  all  when 
she  had  married  Dick.  It  might  have  been  Teddy. 
Susan  had  not  judgment  enough  to  know  the  difference 


272  DICK  PENTREATH 

between  Teddy's  ways  to  herself  and  real  lovers'  ways. 
"  It  did  ought  to  have  been  Teddy,"  she  murmured  to 
herself.  "  Teddy  was  a  sport  if  you  like." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Dick  had  proved  a  disappoint- 
ment to  Susan.  Unless  she  could  make  some  fun  for 
herself  things  didn't  look  as  if  they  were  going  to  be 
lively.  Why,  in  Paris  he  had  only  taken  her  to  the 
decorous  places.  She  had  heard  of  the  Moulin  Eouge 
from  some  Americans  in  their  hotel  and  had  craved  for 
its  delights ;  but  Dick  had  been  inflexible.  Susan  began 
to  think  of  him  as  a  muff.  His  good  looks  and  polite- 
ness were  all  very  well.  Susan  liked  a  man  with  a 
spice  of  the  devil  in  him. 

Presently  she  rang  the  bell  and  ordered  whisky  and 
soda  to  be  brought;  "And  mind  you  bring  it  every 
night,"  she  added. 

When  Eliza  had  brought  the  tray  she  waited  to 
ask  if  Mrs.  Pentreath  would  wish  her  to  attend  her  in 
her  bedroom,  to  brush  her  hair  and  put  away  her  things. 

Susan  considered  a  moment  and  accepted  the  offer. 
Presently  she  would  have  a  maid  of  her  own,  she 
added  loftily;  but  she  wasn't  easy  to  please.  While 
she  looked  about  her  Eliza  might  do. 

Eliza  brushed  Susan's  hair  with  something  like 
rank  rebellion  stirring  in  her  breast.  The  hair  was 
the  hair  of  a  woman  of  the  people,  coarse,  unflexible, 
straight.  Fortunately,  Susan  fell  asleep  during  the 


THE   BRIDE  COMES  HOME  273 

hair-brushing  so  that  Eliza  was  free  to  let  her  re- 
pugnance appear  in  her  face.  It  was  odd  enough  that 
reflection  in  the  glass  of  Susan  asleep  open-mouthed, 
her  chin  on  her  breast  amid  the  laces  and  ribbons  of 
her  Paris  peignoir,  and  the  prim,  elderly  face  above 
hers  looking  down  with  those  glances  compounded  of 
terror  and  repulsion.  Eliza  handled  the  hair  as  though 
it  were  the  locks  of  Medusa.  The  wax  candles  were 
lit  in  the  old  china  candlesticks.  Amid  Susan's  new 
silver  brushes,  made  after  a  hideous  pattern,  a  pair  of 
green  Coalport  vases  with  sweet-peas  in  them  looked 
nun-like,  demure. 

When  at  last  Susan  awoke,  she  let  Eliza  go  without 
a  "thank  you"  or  a  "good  night."  Susan  knew  the 
proper  way  with  servants.  "  To  treat  them  like  dogs," 
so  she  had  formulated  it  to  herself,  was  the  only  way 
to  keep  them  in  their  places. 

Some  time  after  midnight — Susan  had  long  been 
filling  the  Blue  Boom  with  snores  which  could  be 
heard  along  the  quiet  corridor — Dick  and  Sancho  came 
up  the  stairs.  For  a  second  or  two  Dick  paused  out- 
side the  door  of  the  Blue  Eoom,  then  went  on  to  the 
Bride's  Eoom.  Fortunately  the  bed  was  made  up; 
Mrs.  Pentreath  might  have  chosen  the  Bride's  Eoom, 
Maidment  had  thought.  He  called  to  Sancho  softly 
to  follow  him  and  when  they  were  inside  he  locked 
the  door. 

T 


274  DICK   PENTREATH 

"I  heard  him  go  to  bed,"  old  Maidment  said 
uneasily  to  Eliza  the  next  day.  "To  be  sure  he 
wouldn't  disturb  Mrs.  Pentreath,  coming  up  so  late." 

"Nothing  seems  to  me  anyway  right,"  Eliza  re- 
sponded, lifting  her  apron  to  her  eyes.  "  I  don't  know 
how  you  feel  about  it,  Mrs.  Maidment,  but,  as  for  me, 
never  did  I  hear  of  such  goings-on." 

Old  Maidment  shook  her  head.  She  hadn't  even 
courage  to  rebuke  Eliza  as  was  her  habit.  To  be  sure 
it  all  did  seem  very  strange  and  unnatural  and  she 
felt  oddly  bewildered,  as  though  the  solid  earth  shifted 
beneath  her  feet. 

"'Tis  worse  for  him,"  she  muttered  to  herself,  as 
she  turned  away ;  and  then  came  back  to  tell  Eliza  to 
make  up  the  Bride's  Eoom  again  as  it  had  been.  "  Mrs. 
Pentreath  snores,"  she  said.  "  I  heard  her  last  night. 
I  don't  suppose  the  master  could  sleep  for  it." 


CHAPTEE  XXII 

SUSAN   AND  THE  COUNTY 

THERE  was  something  dangerous  about  Dick  during 
those  early  months  of  his  married  life.  His  sweet 
temper  had  altered  considerably  for  the  worse.  At 
times  even  Sancho  shrank  away  from  him  and  the 
servants  hardly  knew  him  in  this  new  mood. 

He  would  not  be  Dick  if  he  had  not  his  re- 
pentances after  these  dark  fits,  when  he  was  pitiably 
anxious  to  make  his  faithful  lovers  forget  how  he  had 
hurt  them.  There  were  times,  many  times,  when  he 
honestly  tried  to  make  the  best  of  it,  for  Susan  as  well 
as  for  himself.  However,  in  extenuation  of  the  things 
that  came  afterwards,  it  may  be  said  that  Susan  abso- 
lutely refused  to  let  herself  be  made  the  best  of.  She 
had  discovered  that  life,  even  when  one  had  married  a 
gentleman,  wasn't  all  beer  and  skittles.  It  was  a  dull 
business,  in  fact.  If  she  had  ever  had  any  feeling  for 
Dick  it  had  gone.  She  was  not  delicate  about  letting 
him  know  that  his  ideas  of  life  and  living  were  not 

275 


276  DICK  PENTREATH 

hers.  There  were  moments  when  Dick  was  very  sorry 
for  her  as  well  as  for  himself,  when  if  there  had  been 
any  good  in  Susan  things  might  not  have  gone  so 
badly  after  all.  But  there  was  no  good  in  her.  Susan 
was  worthless  right  through,  corrupt,  coarse,  vulgar, 
insolent,  cold. 

Lady  Stella  had  made  haste  to  call  on  the  bride. 
So  had  those  other  trusty  friends  of  Dick's,  the  Misses 
Marshbanks.  And  Susan  had  behaved  after  her  nature, 
was  at  once  cringing  and  self-assertive,  talked  loudly, 
laughed  loudly,  gave  the  visitors  the  benefit  of  her 
opinions  on  many  things,  in  fact  was  the  noisier  because 
at  heart  she  was  really  timid  and  overawed. 

Happily  for  Dick  he  did  not  happen  to  be  at  home 
on  these  occasions.  Dick  was  often  absent  now,  out 
with  the  reapers  on  the  land,  or  taking  long  solitary 
tramps  with  Sancho  at  his  heels,  or  riding  by  little- 
frequented  ways  with  the  same  fond  and  faithful 
companion. 

Lady  Stella  had  sat  through  her  visit,  never  betray- 
ing the  consternation  Dick's  wife  excited  in  her,  wearing 
her  air  of  bright,  steadfast  kindness  right  through  to 
the  end.  No  one  could  have  suspected  the  things  she 
endured  as  Susan  laid  bare  to  her  all  her  mean  soul. 
She  made  advances  to  Susan,  offered  her  friendship, 
while  all  the  time  the  futility  of  it  was  borne  in  upon 
her.  Her  brother's  words,  "You  can't  help  Susan," 


SUSAN  AND  THE  COUNTY  277 

sounded  in  her  ears  like  the  death-knell  of  hope.  Was 
there  no  help  then  for  Dick  ?  Almost  Lady  Stella  felt 
it  in  her  heart  to  arraign  the  Omnipotence  before  which 
she  had  always  bent  with  loving  humility,  because  such 
things  had  happened  to  her  beloved. 

Was  there  nothing  then  in  Susan  that  one  could 
lay  hold  on  to  lift  up  the  low  nature  ?  It  seemed  as 
if  there  were  nothing.  The  heart-broken  looks  of  the 
old  servants  were  enough  for  Lady  Stella. 

Mrs.  Maidment  had  come  to  her  with  a  bitter  cry 
once. 

"My  lady,"  she  said,  letting  the  tears  flow,  "if  I 
don't  talk  to  some  one  I  can't  a-bear  it.  It's  making 
the  best  of  it  to  Eliza  to  cheer  her  up  I  am  day  and 
night.  Eliza  and  me  will  stand  by  the  ship ;  but  Eliza 
was  always  one  to  take  low  views  and  if  I  let  myself 
go  there'd  be  two  of  us." 

"  Tell  me,  then,  Maidment,  if  it  will  do  you  good. 
I  know  I  needn't  tell  you  not  to  talk  to  other  people." 

"  Is  it  me,  my  lady  ? — me,  that  was  eleven  years  old 
when  I  went  kitchen-maid  to  Oakhurst;  and  that's 
eight  and  forty  years  ago !  But  some  one  I  have  to  tell 
it  to  or  I'll  die  of  it.  And  your  ladyship  so  kind,  and 
so  fond  of  poor  Master  Dick." 

The  tale  she  had  to  tell  was  unspeakably  depressing. 
As  she  told  it,  Lady  Stella  noticed  that  her  cheeks, 
which  had  had  the  bright,  cracked  red  of  a  russet  apple, 


278  DICK   PENTEEATH 

cheerful  as  the  robin's  breast-knot,  had  become  pale 
and  hollow.  There  was  a  look  of  suffering  in  the  kind, 
blue  eyes.  The  old  servant  told  her  tale  with  such 
dignity,  such  restraint,  that  it  moved  her  hearer  to  the 
depths. 

Beginning  with  Susan's  taking  the  keys  from  Mrs. 
Maidment  the  morning  after  her  coming  home,  it  was 
a  long  record  of  petty  oppressions,  mean  suspicions, 
insolences,  rough  and  violent  words,  things  too  dreary 
and  sordid  to  be  told. 

"  I  never  thought,"  Mrs.  Maidment  said,  with  forlorn 
dignity,  "  that  I'd  live  to  be  told  I  was  a  thief  and  a 
liar,  in  that  house  too  where  I've  grown  from  a  bit  of  a 
girl  to  an  old  woman  and  ever  respected  and  trusted. 
But  I  bore  it  for  the  master's  sake.  And  Eliza  she 
bears  it  and  Brew  he  bears  it ;  but  the  young  ones, 
they  won't  bear  it.  'Tis  coming  in  at  one  door  they 
are  and  walking  out  at  the  other.  And  the  master  he 
keeps  out  of  the  way ;  but  I  think  he  knows,  for  he 
never  looks  at  me  but  what  his  eyes  ask  my  pardon. 
'Tis  little  I  thought  I'd  ever  have  to  say  to  Master 
Dick's  wife  what  I  said  this  morning.  '  Mrs.  Pentreath,' 
I  said,  '  remember  you're  a  lady.'  'Tis  terrible  to  see 
Master  Dick  so  patient  like,  but  'twould  be  worse  if 
he  wasn't  patient." 

She  looked  at  Lady  Stella  for  a  moment  with  a 
mysterious  air. 


SUSAN  AND   THE   COUNTY  279 

"  God  help  us,"  she  went  on,  in  a  half-whisper,  "  if 
Master  Dick  wasn't  patient.  Listen,  my  lady,  there's 
something  I've  never  even  told  Eliza.  I'd  gone  in  for 
orders  one  morning,  and  they  were  having  words.  They 
never  seemed  to  notice  me  where  I  was  standing ;  and 
I  had  gone  out  again  only  Master  Dick  looked  across  at 
me,  and  says  he,  '  Mrs.  Pentreath  will  be  ready  for  you 
in  a  few  minutes,  Maidment.'  I  hadn't  time  to  close 
the  door  behind  me  when  he  said,  and  I  never  expected 
to  hear  Master  Dick  speak  like  it,  '  If  you  poison  my 
dog,'  he  says,  '  I'll  kill  you.  I  give  you  fair  warning,' 
says  he,  *  I'll  kill  you.'  Since  then  she's  let  Sancho  be. 
She  was  for  ever  calling  one  or  other  of  us  before  to  turn 
him  out  of  the  house.  Not  that  he  troubled  her.  He 
has  more  sense  than  any  dog  I  ever  came  across  and 
he  keeps  out  of  her  way.  But  follow  him  she  would 
over  the  house,  turning  him  out  from  the  master's 
study  or  the  master's  bedroom.  One  day  last  week — 
Master  Dick  was  away  for  the  day — she  called  Brew  to 
horsewhip  him.  '  I  wouldn't  do  it,  ma'am,'  he  says, 
'  not  if  you  was  to  give  me  a  fortune.'  '  You're  a 
coward,'  says  she.  '  Tisn't  that  I'd  be  afraid  of  Sancho,' 
says  Brew,  smiling  scornful-like.  '  But  if  I  may  make 
so  bold,  what  has  he  done,  ma'am  ? '  '  Done ! '  says 
she.  '  Don't  you  see  that  he's  got  something  there  he's 
tearing  up  ? "  Sancho  was  lying  on  the  mat  outside 
the  Bride's  Eoom,  where  him  and  Master  Dick  sleeps 


280  DICK  PENTREATH 

o'  nights.  '  Let  me  see  wliat  it  is,'  says  Brew.  '  'Im 
tear  up !  Not  'im.'  He  stooped  down  and  drew  out 
from  under  Sancho's  paws  an  old  slipper  of  Master 
Dick's  he'd  took  to  console  him.  I  think  Mrs.  Pentreath 
knows  how  far  she  can  go  with  Sancho ;  I  notice  she 
never  lays  a  hand  on  him  herself.  And  I  think  Master 
Dick,  he  has  showed  her  how  far  she  can  go  with  him" 

Susan  returned  the  Misses  Marshbanks'  call,  arriv- 
ing at  four  in  the  afternoon  and  prolonging  her  stay 
well  on  into  the  hour  that  ought  to  have  been  the  dinner- 
hour.  Miss  Anne  declared  afterwards  that  never  had 
she  so  admired  Miss  Eleanor ;  and,  seeing  that  she  had 
been  her  elder  sister's  devout  admirer  since  they  could 
toddle  that  was  high  praise. 

Other  people  had  called  on  the  same  afternoon ;  but 
Miss  Eleanor  had  managed  somehow  to  engross  Susan, 
very  much  against  her  will,  so  that  she  should  not  dis- 
play her  vulgarity  before  them.  It  took  a  good  deal 
of  tactical  capacity  to  keep  Susan  quiet  against  her 
will.  When  she  could  no  longer  be  restrained  from 
talking  Miss  Marshbanks  swept  her  off  to  the  gardens, 
leaving  her  sister  to  entertain  the  other  guests.  She 
found  a  basket  and  filled  it  with  delicious  peaches  and 
grapes  for  Susan,  who  was  greedy,  and  gobbled  as  many 
almost  as  she  took  away. 

"  Trying  to  get  round  me,"  she  said  to  herself  after- 
wards, "  with  her  old  peach-houses  and  vineries  !  I'd 


SUSAN   AND  THE  COUNTY  281 

a  deal  rather  have  talked  to  the  young  toffs  in  the 
drawing-room.  And  keeping  me  out  there  too  till 
they  were  gone ! " 

"  My  dear  Anne,"  said  Miss  Eleanor  for  her  part, 
"  even  for  Dick's  sake  I  couldn't  do  it  again,  so  you 
needn't  ask  me.  I'm  afraid  the  poor  boy  has  brought 
something  on  himself  that  none  of  us  can  help  him  in. 
It  is  really  a  greater  kindness  to  let  him  suffer  alone." 

Between  Dick's  women  friends — Mrs.  Ludlow  and 
the  Misses  Marshbanks,  and  little  Mrs.  Arbuthnot — it 
was  agreed  not  to  discuss  Dick's  wife.  The  men  were 
more  willing  to  be  silent  without  talking  about  it.  Be 
sure  in  the  village  there  was  plenty  of  gossip.  There 
was  little  use  in  the  old  servants  holding  their  tongues 
seeing  the  number  of  young  ones  who  were  engaged  by 
Susan,  only  to  be  dismissed  with  violence  or  to  dismiss 
themselves  after  a  day  or  two.  If  they  were  from 
other  places  than  Greenheys  they  talked  of  Susan  as 
they  swept  stormily  through  the  village.  If  they  were 
of  Greenheys  they  whispered  the  stories  the  others  had 
shouted.  The  stories  were  the  same,  whether  they  were 
whispered  or  shouted;  and  they  were  black  stories 
against  Susan. 

The  months  turned  round  towards  winter  and  Susan 
had  had  time  to  feel  the  dulness  of  it  all.  The  county 
had  paid  its  calls  and  came  no  more,  excepting  Lady 
Stella.  No  matter  how  ill  Susan  behaved  Lady  Stella 


282  DICK   PENTREATH 

came;  and  Susan  behaved  very  ill,  being  secretly  in 
awe  of  the  great  lady  and  dissembling  it  after  her  kind 
by  an  appearance  of  greater  carelessness  than  usual. 

It  was  dull  work  being  a  lady,  Susan  thought,  and 
would  have  gone  down  on  her  knees  and  scrubbed  floors, 
or  swept  or  polished  the  grates,  and  been  the  better  for 
the  physical  labour  in  every  way,  since  with  her 
more  than  with  other  people,  idleness  was  the  devil's 
opportunity;  only  that  she  would  not  demean  herself 
before  the  servants  for  whom  she  had  a  curious  kind  of 
hatred.  She  could  drive  and  oppress  and  hinder  them 
at  their  work  ;  but  it  behoved  her  in  her  new  position 
not  to  do  anything,  however  slight,  for  herself  which  a 
servant  could  do  for  her.  If  the  energy  in  her  could  have 
found  vent  in  bodily  exertion  she  need  not  perhaps  have 
gone  downhill  as  fast  as  she  did.  Often,  often,  as  she 
sat  yawning  in  the  drawing-room  in  one  of  her  fine 
French  tea-gowns,  she  thought  enviously  of  the  old 
days  at  the  Stone  Farm.  There  was  some  satisfaction 
in  her  life  there.  But  that  was  all  done  and  over. 
Her  game  was  played  out  there.  Her  father,  unex- 
pectedly spirited  in  her  absence,  had  written  a  lawyer's 
letter  to  her  in  which  he  tore  to  shreds  her  claim  to  the 
farm.  She  suspected  some  one  behind  him,  the  parson, 
or  some  one  else.  Anyhow  she  was  out  and  out  she 
would  remain.  She  was  tolerably  certain  that  if  she 
desired  to  return  to  the  Stone  Farm  to-morrow  she  would 


SUSAN  AND  THE  COUNTY       283 

find  the  door  shut  in  her  face.  The  old  lives  there  were 
henceforth  to  go  gently,  unshadowed  by  her. 

None  of  "  the  fellows,"  as  she  called  them,  had  put 
in  an  appearance  at  Oak  hurst.  The  coveted  society  of 
Teddy  Casaubon,  who  lived  with  his  mother  and  sisters 
about  three  miles  the  other  side  of  Greenheys,  seemed 
as  far  off  as  ever. 

Teddy  indeed  had  taken  the  business  about 
Dick  so  terribly  to  heart  that  even  Lady  Stella 
had  to  be  sorry  for  him.  He  had  met  Dick  the  first 
time  after  his  marriage  with  a  pale  dismay  that  was 
the  measure  of  his  knowledge  of  Susan.  And  Dick 
had  apparently  forgiven  him,  or  knew  nothing,  or 
blamed  only  himself  and  the  inexorable  Fates  ;  for  his 
glance  fell  on  Teddy  with  the  old  affection. 

"I  feel  as  though  I  shall  have  to  go  and  hang 
myself,"  Teddy  said  afterwards  to  the  Duke,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes. 

At  last  Susan  caught  sight  of  him  as  he  trotted 
home  from  the  first  cub-hunting  of  the  season.  Susan 
was  afoot,  and  Teddy,  abstracted  in  his  thoughts,  was 
upon  her  before  he  noticed  her. 

At  sight  of  her  his  face  reddened,  and  he  would 
have  passed  on,  lifting  his  hat  in  a  frozen  deference. 

"  I  say,"  cried  Susan — she  was  immeasurably  bored 
by  this  time — "  don't  pass  an  old  friend  like  that ! 
Don't,  Teddy !  I'm  just  sick  for  a  bit  of  fun  in  this 


284  DICK  PENTRBATH 

bloomin'  country  of  yours.  Haven't  you  got  a  cigarette 
about  you,  Teddy  ? " 

Teddy  looked  more  scared  than  if  he  had  seen  a 
ghost,  muttered  something,  lifted  his  hat,  and  galloped 
off,  leaving  Susan  looking  after  him  with  an  ugly  frown. 

She  had  stood  almost  in  his  path,  her  hand  laid 
familiarly  on  his  horse's  neck ;  but  she  had  not  held 
Teddy. 

"  Well,  I  never  ! "  she  said,  looking  after  him.  "  See 
if  I  don't  pay  out  my  gentleman  for  that !  He  ought 
to  have  trampled  me  down,  so  he  ought." 

She  had  a  vague,  impotent  idea  of  carrying  her 
grievance  to  Dick  ;  but  it  hardly  took  shape.  Susan  did 
not  know  enough  of  a  gentleman's  mind  to  be  sure  that 
Teddy  would  not  kiss  and  tell  if  he  were  put  to  it.  She 
felt  pretty  sure  that  in  certain  circumstances  Dick  might 
be  dangerous. 

It  was  while  still  smarting  under  this  inexplicable 
behaviour  of  Teddy's  that  she  conceived  the  idea  of 
entertaining  the  county.  She  would  ask  them  all,  the 
more  the  merrier.  Not  Teddy,  though.  Teddy  should 
never  put  his  legs  under  her  mahogany,  not  if  she  knew 
it.  That  was  reserved  for  his  betters. 

Before  she  could  cool  on  the  idea  she  put  it  into 
practice.  She  drove  over  to  the  county  town  and  pro- 
vided herself  with  printed  cards  of  invitation.  She  had 
a  long,  wet  afternoon  alone  to  fill  in  the  names.  She 


SUSAN  AND  THE  COUNTY  285 

did  it  pretty  thoroughly.  She  had  the  big  red  county 
directory  beside  her,  and  she  filled  in  the  cards  of  invi- 
tation to  dinner  with  the  names  of  the  nobility  and 
gentry  within  driving  distance  of  Oakhurst. 

It  was  only  after  the  first  batch  of  invitations  had 
been  posted  that  she  began  to  feel  a  little  alarm  as  to 
how  Dick  might  take  it.  She  told  him  of  her  venturous- 
ness  with  a  boldness  behind  which  some  fear  lurked. 

"  If  I  don't  look  out  for  myself,"  she  said,  carrying 
the  war  into  the  enemy's  country, "  there's  none  to  do  it 
for  me.  To  be  sure  the  folk  know  you  are  ashamed  of 
me.  No  one  ever  crosses  this  door  except  some " 

"  I'm  not  ashamed  of  you,  Susan,"  Dick  said,  with  a 
curious  gentleness.  The  stupefaction  was  still  in  his 
face.  "  Country  people  are  slow  to  make  friends.  By 
right  they  should  have  made  this  advance.  However, 
since  you  have  done  it  I  will  see  you  through." 

The  unexpected  concession  made  Susan  rebound 
from  a  certain  alarm  to  insolence. 

"  A  man  that  was  a  man "  she  began. 

"  Excuse  me,  Susan,"  Dick  said.  "  The  '  vet.'  has 
come  to  see  to  the  pony's  knees.  You  must  have  let 
him  down  yesterday.  For  the  future,  till  you  are  a 
better  whip,  I  should  be  so  grateful  if  you  would  let 
Brew  drive." 

And  so  he  left  Susan  standing  on  the  hearthrug 
with  her  back  to  the  fire,  preparing  herself  for  battle. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  DINNER-PAETY 

DICK'S  eyebrows  went  up  when  he  read  the  list  of 
those  whom  Susan  had  invited.  If  they  all  came, 
there  would  be  more  than  Oakhurst  would  hold. 

However,  a  day  or  two  settled  that,  and  proved 
that  the  dinner  would  not  be  beyond  the  seating 
capacity  of  the  Oakhurst  dining-room.  Still  the  ac- 
ceptances were  a  good  many — too  many  for  the  resources 
of  the  house. 

"  If  it  won't  break  Maidment's  heart,"  said  Dick, 
"  we'd  better  give  it  to  a  caterer  from  town.  It  will 
save  a  deal  of  trouble.  You'd  better  let  me  break  it 
to  Maidment." 

"  Her  ?  "  said  Susan.  "  It'll  be  good  news  to  her 
that  she  won't  have  to  do  the  work." 

The  housekeeper  took  the  news  with  quiet  ac- 
quiescence. 

"To  be  sure,  I  don't  know  the  new  cooking,  sir," 
she  said ;  "  and  we  never  seemed  to  want  it.  I  could 

286 


THE   DINNER-PARTY  287 

always  make  a  jelly  or  a  syllabub  or  a  junket  or 
creams  with  any  one.  You  remember  how  the  gentle- 
men used  to  like  my  sweets  ?  There  didn't  much  come 
back  from  the  table  when  you  had  gentlemen  to  dine." 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Dick,  heartily.  "  And  it  isn't 
because  we  wouldn't  like  your  cooking  a  deal  better 
that  we've  made  this  arrangement.  Only,  you  see,  it 
will  be  a  very  large  party.  More  than  Eliza  could 
wait  on  even  with  Brew  in  a  black  coat.  And  we 
should  have  to  have  glass  and  cutlery.  So  it  is  easier 
to  take  it  all  off  your  shoulders." 

"Thank  you,  Master  Dick,"  Mrs.  Maidment  said. 
"  But  you  know  I  should  have  been  willing  to  do  my 
best" 

A  little  while  ago  she  could  not  have  imagined 
such  a  thing  as  white-capped  men  in  her  kitchens, 
flying  hither  and  thither,  with  saucepans  in  their  hands 
which  were  not  even  Oakhurst  property,  shouting  to 
each  other,  asking  for  things  she  had  never  heard  of, 
heaping  up  vast  piles  of  basins  and  dishes  to  be  washed 
— turning  her  world  upside  down,  in  fact.  But  by  this 
time  she  was  pretty  well  past  being  surprised  by  any- 
thing. Through  all  the  hurry  and  scurry  of  the  kitchens 
she  kept  her  place ;  though  for  all  she  had  to  do  she 
might  as  well  have  retired  to  her  housekeeper's  room, 
sacred  no  longer  since  Susan  had  taken  the  keys  of 
the  store  cupboards  and  doled  out  things  as  they  were 


288  DICK   PENTREATH 

wanted,  after  many  searching  questions  as  to  what  had 
become  of  former  supplies. 

Maidment  had  become  so  used  to  things  that  she 
hardly  felt  it  when  Susan  was  rude  to  her  before  the 
strange  men.  Susan  had  her  finger  in  every  pie  and 
was  in  and  out  of  the  kitchens  all  day  long. 

"Why  don't  you  give  her  her  answer,  mother?" 
said  the  chef,  with  a  sympathetic  glance  at  Maidment 
after  Susan  had  departed.  "  Why  don't  you  tell  her  to 
keep  her  place  and  you'd  keep  yours  ?  I've  seen  some 
rum  things  going  about  the  world,  I  have ;  but  never 
anything  rummer,  in  a  house  like  this,  than  that  there 
mistress  of  yours." 

However,  Maidment  was  not  going  to  discuss  Master 
Dick's  wife  with  a  stranger,  so  she  made  no  response 
to  the  man's  well-meant  sympathy.  It  had  become  a 
strange,  tottering  world  for  Maidment,  where  the  only 
thing  that  was  certain  to  happen  was  the  last  thing  in 
the  world  you  would  have  expected.  She  and  Eliza 
supported  each  other  in  this  world  of  ruins,  where  all 
the  solid  things  were  falling  to  pieces  around  them. 
To  be  sure,  there  was  Brew,  but  Brew  was  different; 
he  was  a  man  and  had  his  cronies  in  the  village  and 
could  go  to  the  Gray  Goose  for  his  beer  and  a  chat 
with  other  men.  Men  didn't  take  the  falling  to  pieces 
of  the  old  well-ordered,  honourable  ways  as  the  women 
did.  And  Eliza  was  as  much  at  a  loose  end  these  days 


THE   DINNER-PARTY  289 

as  Mrs.  Maidment  herself,  since  the  very  flowers  for 
the  table  were  to  be  sent  down  from  town  and  arranged 
by  strange  hands. 

They  used  to  creep  together  for  comfort;  but  even 
in  their  bedrooms  they  were  not  safe  from  Susan's 
intrusion.  They  were  nervous  and  frightened.  It  gave 
Susan  a  fierce  joy  to  see  them  start  when  they  heard 
her  voice,  and  she  had  learnt  a  way  of  creeping  upon 
them  so  that  she  might  enjoy  their  terror.  Oddly 
enough,  Eliza,  who  had  always  been  "a  poor  thing," 
was  now  the  less  nervous  of  the  two.  -  They  had  one 
strong  tie  between  them  in  their  determination  to  stay 
by  Oakhurst  and  Master  Dick,  let  Mrs.  Pentreath  do 
her  worst. 

The  morning  of  the  great  day  broke  wild  and  wet. 
A  wind  had  sprung  up  in  the  night  and  stripped  the 
woods  of  their  yellow  leaves.  For  miles  the  country 
was  yellow  underfoot  and  there  were  bare  boughs 
where  yesterday  there  had  been  splendour  of  leafage. 

Dick  was  abroad  early,  as  he  was  now  always  and 
in  all  weathers,  and  Sancho  with  him.  He  had  added 
to  his  possessions  that  farm  which  he  had  desired, 
which  made  Oakhurst  more  respectable  as  a  property. 
He  had  added  to  his  stock  ;  farming  operations  were 
in  full  swing.  To  be  sure,  there  was  the  pheasant- 
shooting,  too.  All  day  the  guns  were  popping  in  the 
miles  of  woods  round  about.  But  Dick  did  not  join 

u 


290  DICK   PENTREATH 

the  guns,  though  invitations  rained  on  him,  as  usual, 
from  every  side.  He  was  become  a  practical  man. 
Sometimes  he  attended  sales  or  markets  at  a  distance. 
Those  were  Sancho's  bad  days.  But  mostly  Dick  was 
about  his  land  all  day,  gaitered  to  his  knees.  As  often 
as  not  he  would  have  a  slice  of  bread  and  cheese  in  the 
fields  for  his  lunch  like  any  ploughman.  The  solitude 
of  the  fields  seemed  to  him  now  the  one  thing  desirable. 
And  those  were  Sancho's  good  days  when  he  could  be 
abroad  with  the  master  all  day  long. 

The  wild  day  made  no  difference  to  Dick,  with  his 
deerstalker's  cap  pulled  over  his  eyes  and  his  old  home- 
spun shooting-suit  thick  as  a  board  and  impervious  to 
wind  and  weather.  The  day  out  of  doors  was  wild  and 
fresh  and  sweet.  Dick  took  off  his  cap  many  times  to 
feel  the  wind  and  the  rain  like  soft  fingers  in  his  hair. 
Within  doors  it  was  sullen  and  sad,  the  rain  beating  on 
the  panes,  the  shadows  creeping  up  the  walls,  the  wind 
crying  about  the  house  and  flinging  all  the  trees  into 
agonies ;  worse,  from  Susan's  point  of  view,  it  made  the 
chimneys  smoke. 

Everything  seemed  to  go  wrong  within  doors.  If 
the  chimneys  smoked  the  fires  did  not  burn.  The  rain 
came  through  the  roof  of  the  Blue  Room  and  dripped 
on  to  Susan's  gayest  gown  which  Eliza  had  set  ready 
for  the  evening,  damaging  it  hopelessly  before  it  was 
discovered.  The  ivy  was  torn  down  over  the  porch 


THE  DINNER-PABTY  291 

and  lay  in  a  great  bedraggled  mass  right  in  the  door- 
way. It  had  brought  down  some  of  the  trellis  with 
it.  The  lawn  was  sodden,  miserable,  a  wilderness  of 
flying  leaves.  At  the  last  it  was  discovered  that  the 
fruit  had  not  arrived  from  town.  Messengers  were 
sent  hither  and  thither.  Susan  was  in  everybody's 
way,  scolding,  hindering,  setting  the  tempers  all  astray. 
At  last  the  chef  had  respectfully  but  firmly  ordered 
her  out  of  the  kitchen,  saying  that  if  she  remained  he 
would  fling  up  the  dinner  altogether. 

Certainly  Dick  and  Sancho  had  the  best  of  it, 
although  the  storm  increased  in  violence  with  every 
hour  till  it  had  become  a  tempest.  It  was  five  o'clock 
when  Dick  came  in  through  the  stable-yard,  wet  but 
placid,  although  the  rain  dripped  from  his  hair.  He 
had  left  Sancho  to  be  rubbed  down  by  Brew  before 
coming  into  the  house. 

He  looked  into  the  kitchen  as  he  passed  by  and 
gave  a  pleasant  word  to  Mrs.  Maidment  and  the  white- 
capped  cooks. 

"  So  that  is  your  gentleman,"  said  the  chef,  who  had 
not  seen  him  before.  "He  looks  quite  the  toff;  but 
a  little  flesh  on  his  bones  would  do  him  no  harm." 

"We  never  thought  the  master  what  you'd  call 
thin,"  said  Maidment,  uneasily. 

"  Ah,  that  depends  on  what  you  do  call  it,"  the 
chef  replied  cryptically. 


292  DICK   PENTEEATH 

It  was  true  that  Dick  had  worn  himself  thin  since 
the  summer ;  lines  had  formed  in  the  face  that  had  had 
an  ambrosial  freshness  and  gaiety  of  youth.  He  had 
developed  hollow  jaws  and  worn  temples ;  if  you  had 
looked  closely  you  might  have  seen  a  whole  shower  of 
gray  hairs  among  the  brown  ones. 

He  had  his  bath,  and  dressed  and  went  downstairs. 
The  dining-room  was  in  the  hands  of  strange  men, 
with  Eliza  looking  on  helplessly.  He  passed  by  the 
open  door  and  went  on  to  the  drawing-room.  He 
thought  he  would  like  some  tea  and  he  supposed  he 
should  find  Susan  there  to  give  it  to  him. 

As  he  entered  the  room  a  puff  of  smoke  came  in 
his  face.  The  doors  and  windows  rattled.  A  tre- 
mendous blast  struck  the  house.  Through  the  shuttered 
windows  he  heard  the  rain  streaming  on  the  pane. 

"  Ugh !  what  a  night !  "  he  said,  advancing  to  the 
hearthrug,  where  Susan  stood  with  her  back  to  the  fire 
eyeing  him  sullenly.  "  Can  you  give  me  a  cup  of  tea, 
Susan?" 

She  indicated  the  tea-table  with  an  uncouth 
gesture. 

"  It's  all  there,"  she  answered.  "  You  can  pour  it 
out  for  yourself.  Leaving  me  alone  all  day  like  this  ! 
That  beastly  chimney  did  ought  to  be  swep'.  Things'll 
be  in  a  nice  state  with  the  blacks.  The  rain's  come 
into  my  bedroom  and  spoilt  my  best  gown.  Much  you 


THE  DINNER-PARTY  293 

care !  That  man  from  Ferrars'  turned  me  out  of  my 
own  kitchen.  The  lamps  are  smelling.  That  lazy 
beast,  Eliza !  I've  sent  them  back  four  times :  I'll 
send  them  back  four  times  more." 

She  was  darkly  flushed.  Her  purple  dress  which 
became  her  ill  had  a  stain  on  the  front  of  it.  Her 
hair  was  untidy.  Susan  had  always  been  tidy  what- 
ever else  she  was.  A  sense  of  squalid  discomfort 
seemed  to  envelop  Dick.  He  had  come  in  with  the 
quietness  of  the  fields,  the  freshness  of  the  rain  and 
the  great  wind  about  him,  soothing  his  unhappy  heart. 

He  went  to  the  table  and  poured  out  a  cup  of  tea 
for  himself.  He  tasted  it ;  it  was  cold  and  bitter,  and 
he  set  it  down  undrunk. 

"  I  don't  think  the  lamps  smell,"  he  said.  "  I 
dare  say  it  will  be  all  right.  People  from  a  distance 
will  not  come,  that  is  all." 

An  hour  or  two  later  the  guests  were  arriving. 
Susan  was  in  good  humour  now,  and  magnificent  in  a 
garment  Dick  had  never  seen  before.  It  was  a  scarlet 
silk,  glaringly  ill-suited  to  her,  and  she  wore  her 
decolletage  with  an  air  of  being  unused  to  it.  She  had 
Dick's  mother's  jewels,  a  string  of  emeralds,  a  collar 
of  close-set  garnets,  the  emeralds  falling  below  the 
garnets  on  her  unaccustomed  neck.  She  had  three  or 
four  bracelets  on  each  arm.  Her  gloves  had  burst. 
Susan's  gloves  were  always  a  difficulty.  She  was 


294  DICK  PENTREATH 

agitating  a  fan  violently  to  cool  her  cheeks  which  still 
had  that  oddly  dark  flush.  The  gown,  the  jewels,  the 
hair,  the  face,  swore  at  each  other,  would  have  set  the 
teeth  of  a  sensitive  person  on  edge. 

Susan  was  in  high  good  humour,  but  all  the  same 
there  was  a  blight  on  the  house.  The  fires  refused  to 
burn.  It  was  true  that  the  lamps  smelt.  Much  chivy- 
ing of  Eliza  had  had  that  result  at  last ;  at  last  Eliza 
had  been  driven  to  do  with  a  shaking  hand  the  thing 
she  had  never  done  before ;  she  had  cut  the  wicks  and 
there  were  corners  to  every  one  of  them.  The  faint, 
sickly  smell  of  smoking  lamps  strove  with  the  smell 
of  the  smoking  chimneys  and  destroyed  any  feeling  of 
good  cheer. 

The  guests  came  into  the  drawing-room,  one  black 
coat  after  another.  The  men  talked  about  the  storm 
and  the  state  of  the  roads.  There  were  trees  reported 
down  in  places.  Some  had  found  it  impossible  to  take 
out  their  carriages.  The  men  had  driven  over  in  their 
dog-carts  bearing  apologies  from  mothers  and  wives 
and  sisters.  Some  who  had  not  seized  on  the  storm 
for  an  excuse  reported  colds,  headaches,  the  usual  stock 
excuses.  As  the  room  filled  with  the  black  coats, 
never  a  lady  amongst  them,  Dick's  face  grew  more 
haggard. 

Susan  hardly  seemed  to  notice  or  care.  She  was 
talking  away  at  the  top  of  her  voice  to  the  Lord 


THE   DINNER-PARTY  295 

Lieutenant  of  the  county,  who  was  bending  his  gray 
head  to  her  in  a  manner  markedly  deferential.  Dick,  at 
the  other  end  of  the  room,  heard  a  word  now  and  again 
through  his  own  conversation  with  Mr.  Arbuthnot,  and 
grew  sterner-looking  every  moment.  Mrs.  Arbuthnot 
was  the  one  of  the  absentee  ladies  who  had  a  genuine 
excuse  for  her  absence,  since  Robin  Arbuthnot,  who 
was  a  croupy  child,  had  kept  the  rectory  up  all  the 
night  before  and  might  be  expected  to  repeat  the  per- 
formance in  the  night  that  was  coming.  Watching 
Dick's  face  the  rector  wished  with  all  his  heart  that 
he  had  stayed  at  home  and  bid  Mary  represent  him  at 
the  dinner. 

The  clock  was  almost  at  the  dinner-hour  when  the 
Duke  of  Lydford  and  Lady  Stella  Gascoigne  came  in. 
There  was  a  sound  in  the  room  like  a  sigh  of  relief, 
and  Dick's  face,  as  he  went  to  greet  Lady  Stella, 
cleared  wonderfully.  Some  of  the  men  who  had  been 
looking  rather  hang-dog  cheered  up,  feeling  a  gloomy 
delight  in  the  thought  of  being  able  to  tell  their  femi- 
nine belongings  that  Lady  Stella  had  not  thought  it 
beneath  her  to  countenance  poor  Dick's  bride. 

Lady  Stella's  eyes  roamed  over  the  room  and  took 
in  the  state  of  affairs  at  a  glance.  Her  greeting  to 
Susan  was  almost  exaggeratedly  cordial.  She  took 
Susan's  two  hands  in  hers  and  kissed  her  on  the  cheek. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  we  are  late,"  she  said.     "  We  had 


296  DICK  PENTRBATH 

to  turn  back  and  take  another  road ;  there  was  a  tree 
down.  I  hope  you'll  forgive  us,  Mrs.  Pentreath.  Miss 
Marshbanks  sent  down  a  message  just  before  we  left ; 
here  is  her  note ;  two  of  their  beautiful  Spanish  chest- 
nuts are  down.  The  road  is  blocked  for  them." 

For  the  moment  Lady  Stella's  presence  and  manner 
seemed  to  have  saved  the  situation ;  but  hardly  were 
the  guests  settled  at  the  dinner-table  than  the  depres- 
sion fell  over  them  again.  The  gaps  down  the  long 
table  were  something  that  made  people  feel  very  un- 
happy, the  men  who  had  left  their  feminine  belongings 
at  home,  willingly  or  unwillingly,  the  most  unhappy  of 
all. 

"  I'm  afraid  the  storm  has  spoilt  your  party,  Mrs. 
Pentreath,"  the  Lord  Lieutenant  of  the  county  said, 
sticking  his  glass  more  firmly  in  his  eye. 

"  There'll  be  more  for  the  rest  of  us,"  said  Susan 
with  a  laugh  which  had  no  gaiety  in  it. 

"  I  feel  as  though  we  ought  to  send  out  into  the 
highways  and  hedges,"  Dick  said  to  Mr.  Arbuthnot, 
"  and  compel  them  to  come  in." 

The  black  coats  relapsed  into  silence,  or  talked  in 
couples  across  empty  chairs.  In  her  place  beside  Dick 
Lady  Stella  did  her  best;  but  after  a  time  her  eyes 
began  to  share  the  haggard  anxiety  of  Dick's. 

The  dinner  was  excellent.  Perhaps,  after  a  while, 
the  blight  that  lay  upon  the  company  might  have  been 


THE   DINNER-PARTY  297 

removed  if  it  had  not  been  that  Susan  talked  louder 
and  louder,  grew  less  and  less  discreet.  Susan's  voice, 
at  the  best,  had  a  piercing  quality.  In  the  old  days 
she  had  talked  almost  in  a  whisper  to  Dick.  It  intruded 
into  the  tale  of  bags  made  during  the  week,  the  talk  of 
hunting  fixtures,  the  discussion  of  politics  and  agricul- 
ture. Some  of  the  black  coats,  who  were  forgetting 
their  first  discomfort  in  the  good  dinner  and  the  talk 
about  things  that  interested  them,  regarded  Susan  with 
a  sense  of  positive  annoyance. 

The  Lord  Lieutenant  of  the  county  looked  towards 
Dick  once  or  twice  uneasily.  He  was  a  distinguished 
diplomatist  and  he  put  forth  all  his  arts  to  keep  Susan 
on  safe  topics.  He  positively  blushed  as  he  took  a  full 
bottle  of  champagne  from  Susan's  elbow  and  placed  it 
the  other  side  of  himself,  talking  in  his  most  fascinating 
way  to  conceal  the  thing  he  had  done.  But  Susan  only 
saw  in  it  a  desire  to  possess  himself  of  the  wine.  She 
was  fast  getting  beyond  any  fear  of  her  company.  She 
called  to  the  waiter  for  more  champagne,  with  a  rough 
pleasantry  to  the  distinguished  diplomatist. 

"  I  have  never  felt  so  bad,"  he  said  afterwards,  "  not 
even  when  the  country  was  on  the  edge  of  war  and  the 
ministers  didn't  dare  go  to  bed,  while  the  Press  and 
the  country  were  dreaming  only  of  a  long  and  fat 
peace.  There  was  that  poor  devil,  Dick,  growing  whiter 
and  whiter — while " 


298  DICK   PENTREATH 

His  Lordship  had  no  love  of  a  squalid  incident. 
He  never  liked  to  talk  of  that  dinner.  Indeed,  when 
Susan  told  stories  not  usually  told  by  ladies  or  before 
ladies,  the  bent  head  of  the  old  diplomatist,  as  he  fingered 
the  crumbs  on  the  cloth,  was  one  of  the  most  striking 
things  in  the  picture,  if  any  one  had  been  there  suffi- 
ciently uninterested  to  regard  it  in  that  way. 

At  the  head  of  the  table  Lady  Stella  and  Mr. 
Arbuthnot  did  wonders  in  the  way  of  conversation, 
hoping  vainly  to  exclude  what  Susan  was  saying. 

"  Let  me  take  you  away,"  Dick  said  to  Lady  Stella, 
when  the  truth  could  no  longer  be  hidden. 

"  No,  no,"  she  answered,  while  her  face  reflected 
the  cold  despair  of  his. 

At  last  the  endless  dinner,  like  an  eternity  of 
torture,  came  to  an  end.  Dick  gave  his  arm  to  Susan, 
who  by  this  time  was  inclined  to  nod,  and  led  her  from 
the  room.  Lady  Stella  paused  to  say  a  word  or  two  to 
the  diplomatist  who  was  holding  the  door  wide.  When 
she  went  on  to  the  drawing-room  it  was  empty. 

Presently  Dick  came  in  to  where  she  stood  by  the 
fire. 

"My  wife  will  not  appear  again,"  he  said,  in  a 
choking  voice.  "  Shall  I  order  your  carriage,  Stella  ? " 

"  Not  unless  you  wish  me  to  go.  Your  guests 
would  like  some  music." 

He  took   her  hand  and  wrung  it.     "Very   well, 


THE   DINNER-PARTY  299 

Stella,"  he  said.  "  Help  me  through  to-night.  For 
the  rest,  do  not  come  here  any  more.  I  have  made  my 
bed  and  let  me  lie  on  it.  I  could  not  bear  your  seeing 
those  things.  Keep  away,  Stella,  if  you  care  for  me." 

She  had  a  thought  of  the  wretched  woman.  "  Per- 
haps— she  is  quite  young  still  Probably  it  is  only  an 
accident.  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Dick  ? " 

He  laid  his  arms  on  the  mantelpiece  and  his  face 
upon  them. 

"  God  knows  !  "  he  said  "  Dree  my  weird,  I  sup- 
pose. But — I  will  do  my  best,  Stella.  I  promise  you 
I  will  do  my  best." 

"  May  God  bless  your  best  1 "  she  said  gently. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

EECONCILIATION 

THE  story  of  those  years  during  which  Dick  did  his  best 
in  vain,  so  far  as  human  eyes  can  see  it,  was  something 
that  none  of  those  most  intimately  concerned  ever  cared 
to  tell.  Three  years  of  the  ineffectual  struggle  to 
stand  between  Susan  and  her  enemy  bleached  Dick 
Pentreath  white,  bowed  his  shoulders,  passed  over  the 
bonny  youth  of  his  face  like  a  ploughshare. 

His  friends  did  as  he  asked  them — they  let  him  alone. 
People  grew  accustomed  to  his  solitary  figure  riding  and 
walking  alone,  with  only  his  dog  for  company,  along  the 
country  roads,  or  seen  against  the  sky  of  his  upland 
fields.  They  treated  him  as  one  treats  a  person  so 
tragically  visited,  greeting  him,  if  they  came  face  to 
face  with  him,  with  a  subdued  awe  which  was  the 
measure  of  the  general  pity. 

Friends  and  neighbours,  as  they  looked  across  at 
Oakhurst,  spoke  with  bated  breath.  If  the  house  had 
not  become  a  thing  of  shame  it  was  only  because  Dick 

300 


RECONCILIATION  301 

and  the  old  servants  kept  it  something  of  a  sorrowful 
dignity.  There  were  no  more  young  servants  to  publish 
Susan's  degradation.  Mrs.  Maidment  and  Eliza  and 
Brew  kept  the  house  like  a  fortress ;  if  it  were  not  for 
the  invisible  hands  that  brought  Susan  the  thiug  she 
wanted  and  the  openings  through  which,  however  well 
guarded,  Susan  would  escape  if  the  supplies  from  out- 
side failed  her. 

Passionate  partisans  of  Dick's,  and  they  were  many, 
among  the  villagers,  often  said  that  it  would  be  better 
to  let  the  wretched  creature  kill  herself  outright ;  but 
that  was  a  way  out  of  it  that  perhaps  did  not  occur  or 
would  not  have  commended  itself  to  Dick.  If  he  had 
loved  Susan  he  could  have  done  no  more  than  he  did 
to  save  her.  The  anguish  of  those  years  broke  him 
and  re-made  him  as  great  anguish  will.  He  learnt 
strength  and  silence  and  endurance  in  those  years.  If 
he  had  ceased  to  be  the  bonny  boy  people  loved  he  had 
attained  a  noble  manhood. 

Sancho  could  have  told  more  of  Dick's  suffering  than 
any  one ;  and  Sancho  had  altered  like  his  master.  For 
one  thing  he  had  learnt  to  creep,  to  crawl,  to  sidle  out 
of  some  one's  way,  and  that  was  a  thing  very  foreign  to 
his  brave,  beautiful,  spirited  nature.  There  were  times 
when  he  had  to  lie  hidden  altogether.  He  came  to 
know  those  times,  to  tremble  at  the  sound  of  a  voice. 
To  be  sure  he  had  seen  awful  things.  He  was  no  more 


302  DICK  PENTREATH 

the  creature  of  old,  whose  movements  as  he  bounded 
along  before  his  master  had  been  like  the  flash  of  silver 
through  the  air.  He  walked  soberly  now  and  kept  close 
at  Dick's  heels,  with  an  air  of  being  ready  to  creep  into 
a  mouse-hole  if  needs  be  to  get  out  of  some  one's  way. 

Things  happened  in  those  years  with  the  young 
people.  Mabel  Kingscote  had  long  been  Mrs.  Harold 
Stiles,  and  you  might  have  met  any  day  the  elder  Mrs. 
Stiles  driving  about  the  roads  with  her  grandson  and  his 
nurse.  Mrs.  Harold  was  a  good  deal  in  London,  since 
her  husband  was  in  Parliament,  having  actually  wrested 
the  seat  from  the  owner  of  the  insanitary  village,  not 
as  a  Radical  however  but  as  a  reforming  Conservative 
with  ideas  that  were  very  like  Radicalism  after  all. 

Mabel's  sister  Molly  was  now  Mrs.  Beauclerk 
Marshbanks  ;  and,  to  the  joy  of  his  aunt  Eleanor,  Beau 
had  reformed  and  was  working  steadily  up  to  a  good 
practice.  The  young  people  had  a  little  house  in 
Kensington,  and  came  down  faithfully  at  week-ends  and 
holidays  to  The  Place,  Beauclerk  arriving  usually  with  a 
bagful  of  briefs,  about  which  his  wife  used  to  complain 
saying  that  he  might  almost  as  well  have  stayed  in 
town  since  he  did  nothing  but  work  in  the  country. 

"  To  be  sure  Beau  will  be  very  well  off,"  his  aunt 
Eleanor  would  say,  with  nai've  pride,  "  but  I'm  very 
glad  that  he  is  not  content  to  be  an  idler  for  all  that. 
I  always  knew  he  had  great  gifts ;  and  legal  gifts  are  in 


RECONCILIATION  303 

the  family.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  about  his  great  great 
grandfather,  Sir  Hercules  ? " 

"  Please  tell  me,  aunt  Eleanor,"  little  Molly  would 
say,  although  she  had  heard  over  and  over  again  the  full, 
true,  and  particular  account  of  that  legal  luminary. 

"  I  wish  I  hadn't  been  such  a  lazy  dog,"  Beauclerk 
had  said  to  Molly  when  she  had  accepted  him.  "  If  I 
hadn't  I  might  have  had  a  more  creditable  chap  to  offer 
you." 

But  Molly  was  quite  satisfied,  believed  with  his 
aunts  in  those  wonderful  gifts  of  Beau's,  was  content 
to  hear  all  about  Beau's  cases  without  understanding 
half  what  she  was  told,  and  to  entertain  grey,  elderly 
solicitors  who  were  helping  Beau  along  towards  the 
Woolsack,  and  young  barristers  who  talked  of  nothing 
but  legal  matters,  encouraged  in  their  selfishness  by 
the  bright  interested  eyes  of  their  young  hostess.  By 
this  time  Molly  could  talk  as  cleverly  of  So-and-So,  J., 
and  So-and-So,  C.J.,  and  rising  juniors  and  K.C.'s,  as 
she  had  been  wont  to  talk  of  famous  cricketers ;  and 
she  would  repeat  her  legal  phrases  with  a  facility  which 
delighted  Beauclerk  and  made  him  more  in  love  with 
her  than  ever,  if  that  were  possible. 

So  far  as  one  could  see,  Lady  Stella  had  come  no 
nearer  to  accepting  Mr.  Goldhawk.  Once  a  year  regu- 
larly for  some  years  past  he  had  asked  her  to  marry 
him,  and  had  received  her  refusal  without  any  dimming 


304  DICK  PENTREATH 

of  his  brightness.  It  was  only  that  she  was  not  ready. 
He  had  endless  powers  of  waiting.  Once  he  quoted 
Browning's  lover  to  her — 

"  So  long  as  this  world  contains  us  both, 

Whilst  I  am  I  and  You  are  You, 
I  the  loving  and  you  the  loth, 
While  the  one  eludes  will  the  other  pursue." 

"  I  can  go  away  for  a  dozen  years  if  needs  be,"  he 
said  to  her ;  "  and  when  they  are  done  I  shall  come 
back  and  ask  you  the  same  question." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  thoughtful  gaze,  which 
had  something  of  tenderness  in  it.  The  years  did  not 
alter  him.  He  was  slender  and  graceful  as  of  old, 
with  that  air  of  fine  finish  about  him.  Dick,  carrying 
his  intolerable  burden,  might  have  been  twenty  years 
his  senior  now,  although  the  advantage  of  years  was  on 
Dick's  side,  and  a  whole  decade  at  that. 

"  Do  you  never  see  any  one  else  ? "  she  asked,  "  to 
put  iiie  out  of  your  mind." 

"  Never.  There  is  only  one  woman  for  me,  an  in- 
comparable woman." 

"  You  are  too  faithful." 

"  It  is  a  good  fault  in  a  lover." 

"  If  you  were  to  come  back  after  those  twelve  years 
to  find  that  I  had  married  some  one  else  !  " 

"  You  will  never  marry  any  one  else." 

"  How  sure  you  are !  "  she  said  in  wonder. 


RECONCILIATION  305 

"  Aren't  you  ?  "  he  smiled. 

Her  eyelids  fluttered  before  his  direct  gaze. 

Miss  Eleanor  Marshbanks  was  by  this  time  Mr. 
Goldhawk's  passionate  partisan. 

"  Why  don't  you  reward  him,  Stella  ? "  she  would 
ask  at  intervals.  "  My  dear,  I  am  disappointed  in  you. 
I  thought  you  were  so  tender-hearted,  yet  I  begin  to 
believe  you  hard-hearted.  I  should  have  said  that  you 
were  the  last  woman  in  the  world  to  stand  out  against 
such  a  lover." 

Again  she  would  ask  her  sister,  Anne,  in  an  acri- 
monious manner  if  she  expected  anything  better  for 
Lady  Stella  than  to  be  Mr.  Goldhawk's  wife,  mistress  of 
that  colossal  fortune,  with  that  immense  power  for  good 
in  her  hands. 

"  You  may  call  him  a  Jew  if  you  like,"  she  said, 
"  and  a  German  Jew  at  that.  But  if  all  Jews  justified 
their  existence  as  he  does !  Don't  you  know,  Anne 
Marshbanks,  that  his  charities  are  splendid?  that  he 
gives  like  the  royallest  of  kings?  that  he  deserves  to 
be  a  king  ?  I  am  impatient  of  all  this  talk  about  Jews 
seeing  that  the  King  of  us  all  was  a  Jew.  What 
better  would  you  desire  for  Stella  than  to  be  Otto 
Goldhawk's  almoner  ?  As  for  titles,  you  know  he  could 
have  practically  any  title  he  liked  short  of  a  royal  one. 
Come.  Stella  can't  do  better  than  that,  can  she  ? " 

"I  suppose  indeed  she  can't,"  Miss  Anne  would 

x 


306  DICK  PENTREATH 

reply.  "  But  you  forget,  sister,  that  it  was  not  I  who 
objected  to  Mr.  Goldhawk,  but  you." 

"  That  is  ancient  history,"  Miss  Eleanor  would  say 
snappishly.  "  When  one  remembers  those  old  things, 
sister,  it  is  a  sign  that  one  is  growing  old." 

They  did  not  talk  of  Dick  Pentreath  now.  What 
indeed  was  there  to  say  except  the  dreary  and  sordid 
gossip  that  none  of  them  wanted  to  hear,  none  to 
repeat  ?  Miss  Eleanor  had  not  yet  forgiven  Dorothea 
Semple,  although  Dorothea  was  in  a  fair  way  to  be 
rehabilitated  with  other  people ;  and  that  came  about 
in  this  way. 

Perhaps  a  year  had  passed  from  the  time  of  Dick's 
calamitous  marriage.  After  that  last  meeting  of  theirs 
at  the  cottage  in  the  Essex  village  Lady  Stella  had 
thought  that  she  was  done  with  Dorothea  Semple.  The 
girl  had  been  the  instrument  of  a  calamity  which 
nothing  now  could  ever  undo.  She  belonged  to  the 
past  before  the  unimaginable  trouble  fell  upon  Dick. 
Lady  Stella  had  got  no  farther  towards  forgiving  her 
than  to  regard  her  in  the  light  of  a  blind  instrument 
of  the  Power  we  must  always  praise,  however  it  deals 
with  us.  For  some  inexplicable  reason  Dick  had  to 
be  one  of  the  martyrs  of  the  world.  The  girl  had 
been  an  instrument  of  the  martyrdom,  hardly  more 
accountable  than  the  rack  and  the  thumbscrews. 

However,  she  was  not  done  with  the  girl.     One 


RECONCILIATION  307 

evening  after  dinner  Lady  Stella  and  the  Duke  were 
strolling  up  and  down  the  terrace  in  the  dim  sweetness 
of  the  hour  after  sunset.  Moths  were  glimmering  in 
and  out  the  trees ;  now  and  again  a  bat  swooped  near 
their  faces ;  the  blackbird  had  sung  his  last  song  and 
the  nightingales  had  not  yet  begun. 

Suddenly  the  Duke  spoke,  taking  the  cigar  from 
his  mouth  and  flicking  the  ash  off  with  careful 
deliberation. 

"  I  have  been  to  see  the  Semples,  Stella,"  he  said. 

"  Indeed  ? " 

Lady  Stella's  voice  was  startled.  There  had  been 
something  a  little  mysterious  about  her  brother  of  late. 
Was  she  going  to  hear  an  explanation  of  it  ?  When 
a  very  transparent  person  becomes  suddenly  mysterious 
it  is  ominous  indeed 

"  I  have  been  to  see  them  many  times,"  the  young 
man  went  on  steadily,  as  though  he  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  confession.  "They  have  been  very  good  to 
me.  Stella,  could  you  make  up  your  mind  to  forgive 
Dorothea  ? " 

"  To  forgive  Dorothea  ! " — her  voice  was  cold  and 
agitated.  "  Why  do  you  ask  me  ?  Why  do  you  want 
me  to  forgive  Dorothea  ? " 

She  felt  a  passionate  repugnance  for  the  thing  she 
expected  to  hear.  Could  it  be  possible  that,  after  all 
the  terrible  trouble  Dorothea  had  caused,  she  was  going 


308  DICK   PENTBEATH 

to  be  asked  to  take  her  to  her  heart — in  that  unbeliev- 
able capacity  ?  No,  she  couldn't  do  it,  not  even  for 
Arthur,  dear  as  he  was.  And  what  curious  aberration 
of  right  feeling  was  it  that  made  it  possible  for  Arthur 
to  do  such  a  thing,  and  to  think  that  she  would  for- 
give it  ? 

"  Because  the  poor  girl  is  heartbroken,"  he  said. 
"  You  never  saw  any  one  so  changed,  Stella.  By  Jove, 
she's  beautiful  now,  if  you  like,  but  sad !  You'd  for- 
give her,  if  you  saw  her.  Any  one  in  all  the  world 
must  forgive  her." 

"  What  have  you  to  do  with  it,  Arthur  ?  Why  did 
you  seek  out  the  Semples  ?  Why  not  have  let  the  past 
be  dead  ? " 

The  Duke  laughed,  a  short,  shy  laugh,  like  an 
abashed  schoolboy.  A  white  owl  hooted  and  flashed 
close  to  them  in  the  glimmering  dusk.  Lady  Stella 
almost  shrieked  ;  she  was  not  easily  startled,  especially 
by  these  familiar  shapes  of  the  night. 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Stella,"  he  said  slowly,  "  when 
I  went  there  that  time  we  were  hunting  for  poor  old 
Dick,  I  fell  in  love  with— Hilda." 

"Hilda!"  The  relief  made  Lady  Stella's  voice 
almost  joyous.  "  You  mean  the  short-sighted  child 
with  the  straight  fringe  of  fair  hair.  She  was  wearing 
her  skirts  to  the  top  of  her  boots  when  I  saw  her  and 
hardly  took  her  nose  out  of  a  book." 


RECONCILIATION  309 

"  She  took  notes  of  you,  all  the  same,"  the  Duke 
laughed,  in  a  delighted  way.  "  She  thinks  you're  a 
wonderful  person,  as  you  are.  She  just  took  you  in 
on  that  occasion,  the  only  one  when  you  met  her  and 
she  kept  her  nose  in  a  book.  No  one  was  harder  on 
Dorothea  than  Hilda,  while  Dorothea  was  unrepentant. 
Now — she  can't  be  gentle  enough  with  her.  I  think 
little  Hilda  has  an  idea  that  Dorothea  found  out  that, 
after  all,  she  loved  Dick.  Hilda  talks  like  a  sage 
though  she  looks  like  a  child.  She  says  that  Doro- 
thea's soul  wasn't  awake  till  she  realized  what  she  had 
done,  and  then  it  came  awake  with  suffering.  I  never 
should  have  thought  of  that  myself,  but — Dorothea 
looks  like  it  Can  you  forgive  her,  Stella  ? " 

"And  Hilda,  Arthur?" 

"  Oh,  Hilda.  Hilda  is  only  sixteen.  She  goes  up  to 
Newnhain  in  the  autumn.  I  shall  let  her  alone  till  she 
is  eighteen.  She  is  too  young  yet — although  she  has 
read  so  much.  You'd  be  amazed  at  the  things  she  reads 
— no  end  of  poetry,  you  know.  She  showed  me  some  she 
was  reading  one  day ;  it  was  by  Spenser,  the  Epithal — 
I  forget  what  he  called  it.  Her  mother  says  they  always 
let  Hilda  read  what  she  likes ;  she  takes  no  harm.  She 
has  the  eyes  of  a  child  ;  to  be  sure  she  is  a  child." 

Once  he  had  begun  his  confidences  flowed  freely. 
Lady  Stella  could  only  remember  Hilda  as  an  odd- 
looking,  plain  child.  She  wondered  how  Hilda  would 


310  DICK   PENTREATH 

look  as  a  duchess,  with  that  straight  fringe,  that  un- 
worldly air.  The  thought  made  her  smile.  She  smiled 
often  to  herself  as  she  listened  to  the  Duke's  simple 
confidences,  walking  up  and  down  the  terrace  path 
while  the  moon  rose  behind  the  trees  and  the  scent  of 
the  new  hay  floated  in  from  the  fields,  and  from  coppice 
to  coppice  the  nightingales  answered  each  other.  Her 
brother  had  been  uuimpressionable  all  his  days,  and  he 
was  not  so  young  now ;  why,  he  must  be  thirty-two ; 
and  here  he  was  talking  of  Hilda  almost  as  rapturously 
as  long  ago — how  long  ago  in  another  life  ? — Dick  had 
talked  of  Dorothea. 

So  Dorothea  came  back,  and,  being  left  alone  with 
Lady  Stella  for  an  instant,  the  two  gazed  at  each  other, 
and  then  with  sudden  pity  Lady  Stella  put  her  arms 
about  Dorothea  and  held  her  to  her,  while  Dorothea 
cried  that  others  might  forgive  her  but  she  could  never 
forgive  herself  since  what  was  done  could  not  be  undone. 

After  that  they  talked  very  little  of  Dick ;  but  the 
change  in  Dorothea  was  so  great,  her  eyes  so  wintry, 
her  body  so  slender,  her  smile  so  pathetic,  her  manner 
to  Dick's  friends  so  humble  and  deprecating,  that  after 
a  time  even  Miss  Eleanor  Marshbanks  forgave  her  and 
was  known  to  say  that  she  began  at  last  to  see  what 
Dick  saw  in  the  girl. 

Then  one  day  Sancho  came  into  the  room  where 
Dorothea  sat  making  fine,  delicate  baby-clothes  for  the 


RECONCILIATION  311 

child  of  a  girl  whom,  a  little  while  ago,  she  would  have 
passed  with  averted  gaze.  Her  thoughts  had  brought 
a  great  compassion  to  her  face.  Some  light  of  the  spirit 
played  about  her  temple  and  on  the  sad  sweetness  of 
her  mouth.  She  had  aged  by  ten  years  from  the  old 
Dorothea  who  had  always  looked  too  mature  for  her 
years,  but,  as  the  Duke  had  said,  she  was  incomparably 
more  beautiful. 

When  she  saw  the  dog  she  uttered  a  faint  cry. 
With  a  sudden  impulse  she  put  out  both  her  hands,  as 
though  she  expected  to  see  Dick  Pentreath  follow  his 
dog  through  the  open  door  and  would  have  warded  off 
the  sight.  Then  she  remembered  what  Lady  Stella 
had  told  her  that  in  his  master's  absence  the  dog  would 
often  come  and  stay  for  hours. 

She  flung  down  the  fine  seam  and  dropped  on  her 
knees  before  Sancho,  shaken  from  head  to  foot  by  a 
wave  of  memory.  She  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands  and  rocked  to  and  fro  in  an  abandonment  to 
which  she  did  not  often  give  way. 

Sancho  sniffed  at  her  curiously.  At  the  first  in- 
spection he  knew  her.  He  remembered  how  the 
master  had  adored  her,  and  how  she  had  been  vaguely 
unsatisfactory,  to  the  dog's  sense,  in  those  happy  days 
which  it  made  him  almost  delirious  to  think  upon. 
He  whined  as  he  sniffed  about  her  hair  and  her  hands 
Then  he  licked  her  with  a  soft  fervour.  There  was 


312  DICK   PENTKEATH 

nothing  unsatisfactory  about  this  Dorothea ;  nothing 
chilly  and  repellent  about  her  whose  heart  was  broken 
as  the  master's  heart  and  his  own  were  broken. 

Dorothea  uttered  a  cry  as  she  opened  her  arms  and 
clasped  them  about  the  dog's  neck. 

"  Oh,  you  have  forgiven  me,"  she  said ;  "  but  I  can 
never  forgive  myself." 

She  was  kneeling  so,  with  her  head  on  the  dog's 
silken  shoulder,  when  Lady  Stella  came  back.  Sancho 
was  trembling  and  whining  in  an  agony  of  compassion 
and  love. 

"  He  has  forgiven  me,  and  you  have  forgiven  me," 
Dorothea  said,  lifting  her  streaming  eyes.  "  But  there 
is  no  suffering  I  would  not  endure,  no  hunger  and 
thirst  I  would  not  suffer,  if  only  I  could  bring  Dick 
any  alleviation.  But  what  I  have  done  I  can  never 
undo.  Not  all  the  king's  horses  and  all  the  king's  men 
can  ever  put  things  back  where  they  were  a  few  years 
ago.  Oh,  my  poor  Dick,  what  a  price  you  had  to  pay 
for  loving  me !  " 

Lady  Stella  looked  at  her  with  immeasurable 
sympathy.  After  all  there  was  one  result  of  Dick's 
sufferings.  They  had  given  Dorothea  Semple  her  soul. 
And  there  must  be  others.  In  God's  good  time  God's 
secret  would  be  made  manifest.  If  Dick  was  to  save 
his  own  soul  through  his  pangs,  what,  after  all,  would  it 
matter  when  the  tale  was  told  ? 


CHAPTER  XXV 

LOVERS'  MEETING 

ONCE  during  those  years  Dick  and  Dorothea  met  face 
to  face. 

It  was  the  thing  Dorothea  dreaded.  When  she  had 
been  staying  with  Lady  Stella,  and  it  was  not  easy  not 
to  stay  with  Lady  Stella  since  it  seemed  the  one  joy 
left  to  her,  she  had  been  careful  to  avoid  the  places 
where  Dick  might  possibly  be  met.  And  that  was 
easy  enough  for  he  shunned  his  fellow-creatures.  He 
never  went  up  to  town  nor  to  the  country-town  even 
to  sell  his  cattle;  some  one  else  did  that  for  him. 
Except  for  his  excursions  with  his  dog  or  the  occasions 
when  he  went  to  some  distant  market  or  fair  on  busi- 
ness, he  was,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  a  prisoner. 
Indeed,  people  said  of  him  that  he  scarcely  dared  stir 
from  home  afraid  of  what  might  happen.  During 
his  infrequent  absences  Brew  sat  in  the  kitchen  at 
Oakhurst  lest  he  should  be  needed.  There  were 
times  when  Susan  was  dangerous.  Indeed,  she  was 

313 


314  DICK   PENTREATH 

seldom  safe  except  when  she  was  exhausted  after 
illness. 

The  doctor  who  attended  Susan  during  those  squalid 
illnesses  of  hers  came  from  a  distance.  He  had  an 
immense  pity  for  Dick  Pentreath. 

"  I  really  think  Mrs.  Pentreath  ought  to  be  placed 
under  detention,"  he  said  at  last.  "  The  brain  is  prac- 
tically gone.  Even  her  cunning  is  the  cunning  of 
madness.  If  you  would  allow  me,  Mr.  Pentreath " 

For  an  instant  Dick's  face  looked  eager.  Then  he 
shook  his  head. 

"  Not  yet,"  he  said.  "  It  may  have  to  come  to  that. 
But  at  present  I  think  we  are  equal  to  it.  There 
would  be  the  doctor's  certificates,  the  calling  in  of 
magistrates.  I  confess  I  shrink  from  it" 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Pentreath.  But  I  warn  you  that 
Mrs.  Pentreath,  if  she  can  be  saved  from  herself,  has 
probably  a  good  many  years  of  life  before  her.  She  is 
a  strong  woman,  and  people  manage  to  exist  very  com- 
fortably without  their  brains.  It  is  a  pity  that  you 
should  be  obliged  to  lead  the  life  you  do,  cut  off  from 
your  fellow-men  as  you  are  in  the  prime  of  life — why 
more  than  that.  You  are  a  young  man,  Mr.  Pentreath 
— still  under  forty,  I  should  say  ?  " 

"  Twenty-nine." 

"To  be  sure,  to  be  sure.  You  have  had  trouble. 
None  of  us  look  younger  for  trouble." 


LOVERS'  MEETING  315 

"  If  you  thought  she  would  be  better  taken  care  of 
in  an  institution  than  she  is  here  now  that  she  has 
the  two  nurses,  I  should  give  up  my  personal  feelings 
in  the  matter  and  let  her  go." 

"  I  cannot  say  that,"  the  doctor  returned.  "  The 
nurses  are  used  to  this  kind  of  work.  There  will  be  no 
more  escapes.  But  nurses  like  these  are  expensive 
people  to  keep.  You  had  better  consider  the  matter  of 
removing  Mrs.  Pentreath  to  a  place  where  she  will  be 
kept  under  control." 

Dick  went  out  to  think  upon  it.  It  was  true  that 
to  be  quit  of  Susan's  bodily  presence,  even  though  her 
shadow  must  lie  for  ever  on  his  life,  seemed  greatly 
desirable.  The  old  house  would  be  quit  of  the  shame. 
The  old  servants  would  have  the  burden  lifted  from  off 
their  lives.  He  himself,  why,  he  could  breathe  freely  ; 
and  the  relief  Susan's  absence  would  be  was  the  thing 
that  made  him  doubt  his  freedom  to  shut  her  up 
within  the  four  walls  of  an  asylum.  Could  he  fling  off 
his  responsibility  so  easily  as  all  that  ?  Poor  wretch ! 
He  had  the  sane  man's  wholesome  horror  of  a  lunatic 
asylum.  He  had  shuddered  at  the  sight  of  one,  at  its 
high  gray  walls  and  iron  gates  like  a  fortress.  Why,  if 
he  could  keep  the  nurses  the  servants  would  be  spared 
nearly  as  much  as  though  Susan  were  away.  To  be  sure 
there  would  have  to  be  other  servants  to  help  in  waiting 
on  the  nurses,  and  these  would  have  to  be  provided. 


316  DICK  PENTREATH 

He  walked  out  to  think  upon  all  the  aspects  of  the 
question.  At  this  time  Susan  was  quiet  enough  in  the 
hands  of  the  white-capped,  capable-looking  women. 
He  had  gone  in  and  spoken  to  her  before  he  went  out. 
None  would  have  recognized  in  her  the  Susan  of  the 
Stone  Farm  who  had  had  a  certain  comeliness.  The 
nurse,  sitting  by  the  window  of  the  Blue  Boom,  looking 
out  over  blossoming  pear-trees  and  myriads  of  narcissi 
springing  in  the  pale  grass,  glanced  at  Mr.  Pentreath 
and  pitied  him,  although  pity  was  not  much  in  her  line. 
As  she  would  have  said  pity  would  have  unfitted  her 
for  her  work. 

With  Susan's  distorted  face  still  in  his  mind  Dick 
went  along,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  Sancho  at  his 
heels,  thinking.  He  left  his  own  grounds,  crossed  the 
high  road  and  a  stile  and  plunged  into  woods  on  the 
other  side  avoiding  a  public  path.  Only  a  portion  of 
the  woods  was  open  to  the  public;  they  were  the 
Squire's  woods  and  Dick  knew  he  might  wander 
where  he  would.  He  would  meet  with  no  one  but  a 
gamekeeper.  The  Squire  and  Mrs.  Ludlow  and  their 
boy  and  old  Mrs.  Ludlow,  were  in  Italy.  So  much 
he  had  learnt  somehow. 

He  took  a  way  marked  "  private  road,"  and  wandered 
down  a  gamekeeper's  path  under  arches  of  heavenly 
green.  The  floor  of  the  wood  was  blue  and  white,  with 
wood  anemones  and  wild  hyacinths  massed  so  thickly 


LOVERS'  MEETING  317 

as  to  hide  the  grass.  He  had  to  tread  on  the  beautiful 
things,  whether  he  would  or  not.  But  he  had  no 
thought  for  the  beauty  of  the  spring.  The  woman  he 
called  his  wife,  whom  he  had  vowed  to  love  and 
cherish,  on  whom  no  eye  except  the  professional  eyes 
of  nurses  and  doctors  could  rest  without  horror  and 
repugnance ;  how  could  one  think  of  the  spring  when 
that  spectre  sat  at  a  man's  hearth  ? 

He  paused  for  a  few  moments  trying  to  see  his 
duty  in  the  matter.  He  might  lock  her  up  in  an 
asylum  out  of  his  sight,  but  she  would  nevertheless 
sit  by  the  hearth  of  his  life  for  all  the  days  she  lived. 
He  had  no  life  separate  from  hers.  And,  poor  wretch, 
when  it  had  been  a  question  before  of  putting  her  away 
somewhere  she  had  clung  to  him,  sobbing  out  her 
miserable  vows  of  repentance,  and  he  had  promised 
that  she  should  not  go.  She  would  be  safe  with  the 
two  nurses ;  perhaps,  even  yet,  though  she  had  injured 
herself  beyond  repair  she  might  regain  some  measure 
of  honour  and  dignity  before  she  died.  Anyhow,  was 
he  to  banish  her  from  the  shelter  of  the  house  he  had 
given  her?  After  all,  she  was  his  wife.  Dick,  who 
had  been  straight,  as  his  friends  said,  where  women 
were  concerned,  had  always  felt  the  ultimate  tie 
between  a  man  and  woman  as  something  which  put 
the  man  on  his  honour  for  ever  towards  the  one 
woman. 


318  DICK  PENTREATH 

He  straightened  his  shoulders  when  he  had  got  so 
far  in  his  thoughts.  There  was  to  be  no  lifting  of  their 
burden.  He  heard  a  short,  joyous  bark  from  Sancho. 
There,  full  in  his  path,  stood  Dorothea,  the  old  Dorothea, 
yet  a  new  Dorothea,  with  compassion,  suffering,  wisdom 
born  of  suffering,  a  heavenly  humility  in  her  face.  She 
wore  a  green  gown  like  the  spring.  She  had  her  arms 
full  of  wild  hyacinths.  As  she  caught  sight  of  him 
she  let  them  fall  in  a  great  mass  to  her  feet. 

They  were  face  to  face  before  they  realized  that 
they  had  met.  Dorothea  had  no  impulse  to  flight, 
although  she  had  said  to  Lady  Stella  that  if  she  met 
Dick  Pentreath  she  would  turn  and  run  to  the  ends  of 
the  earth. 

Their  hands  met  and  clasped.  "  Oh,  Dick,  can  you 
ever  forgive  me  ? "  she  said. 

"  I  thought  you  hated  me,  Dorothea,"  he  answered. 
"  Do  you  not  hate  me,  then  ? " 

"Hate  you!  Oh,  my  poor  boy,  if  I  could  only 
undo  the  wrong  I  did  you  by  any  suffering  of  my  own 
I  would  gladly  do  it." 

"Why,"  he  said,  "your  compassion  is  like  a  drop 
of  water  on  the  parched  tongue  of  a  poor  wretch  in 
hell.  You  know  I  am  in  hell,  Dorothea  ? " 

"  Oh,  hush,  hush ! "  she  said,  covering  her  face  with 
her  hands. 

"  Purgatory,  then,"  he  amended.   "  Isn't  it  Purgatory 


LOVERS'   MEETING  319 

to  know  that  I  ought  to  have  had  you,  that  I  went  so 
near  to  having  you  and  lost  you  through  my  own 
miserable  fault  ?  Look  at  me,  Dorothea !  It  comforts 
me  when  you  look  at  me  with  compassion.  I  remember 
that  you  looked  at  me  as  though  you  hated  me.  I 
went  near  killing  myself  for  that." 

She  looked  at  him  and  her  eyes  swam  in  tears.  "  It 
was  not  your  fault,"  she  said,  "  but  my  most  miserable 
fault.  I  ought  to  have  had  all  the  suffering." 

"  You  have  suffered,  Dorothea  ? " 

He  looked  at  her  across  the  fallen  flowers  with  a 
gentle  curiousness. 

"I  am  not  a  heart  of  stone  not  to  have  suffered. 
But  you,  oh,  my  poor  Dick ! " 

"Tell  me  one  thing,  Dorothea,  and  then  I  shall 
never  ask  it  of  you  again.  Think  of  me  as  the  poor 
chap  in  ...  Purgatory,  on  whose  tongue  you  can  lay 
a  little  drop  of  water.  Have  you  suffered  because  you 
are  a  compassionate  angel,  or  ...  because  you  loved 
me  after  all  ? " 

She  looked  at  him  steadily  for  an  instant,  although 
she  trembled  from  head  to  foot.  She  would  not  refuse 
him  the  comfort  he  craved. 

"  Because  I  loved  you  after  all,"  she  said. 

Her  voice  was  clear  as  the  voice  of  a  blackbird 
whose  whistle  suddenly  broke  in  the  boughs  that 
arched  above  their  heads. 


320  DICK   PENTREATH 

"  Because  you  loved  me  after  all ! "  he  repeated  in 
amazement.  "  Of  course  I  thought  you  would  be  sorry 
for  me ;  but  that  you  should  love  me " 

A  horrible  vision  came  to  him  of  Susan's  face  as 
he  had  seen  it,  and  floated  an  instant  between  him  and 
this  lady  of  the  woods.  Then  it  passed ;  and  there  was 
nothing  but  a  bright,  sudden  shaft  of  sunlight  out  of 
the  sky  that  had  been  a  soft  cloudy  grey  striking  down 
through  the  leaves  overhead,  wavering  through  the 
shadow  of  leaves  on  her  gown,  on  the  flowers  at  her 
feet,  and  the  silky  coat  of  the  dog,  who  had  lain  down 
beside  Dorothea  as  though  he  knew  that  lovers'  meet- 
ings did  not  soon  end  in  lovers'  partings. 

"  Do  you  see  that,  Dorothea  ? "  Dick  said,  indicating 
the  sudden  shaft  of  light.  "  That  is  the  sword  which 
God  has  set  between  me  and  my  Paradise." 

For  an  instant  neither  spoke.  Then  Dick  went  on 
quietly — 

"  I  nearly  killed  myself  once  because  your  eyes  had 
hated  me.  Only  Sancho  saved  me,  leaping  on  me  when 
I  would  have  pulled  the  trigger.  Aren't  you  grateful 
to  Sancho  that  he  saved  you  that,  Dorothea  ?  To  be 
sure  I  could  never  have  done  it  if  I  had  thought  that 
you  could  ever  in  any  world  have  loved  me.  The 
hardest  thing  in  all  these  years  has  been  to  avoid  seeing 
your  eyes  that  said  you  hated  me." 

"  Look  at  them  now,"  Dorothea  cried  in  a  passion 


LOVERS'   MEETING  321 

of  compassion  that  forgot  everything  but  itself,  "  and 
you  can  never  think  that  I  hate  you  again." 

He  looked  at  her  as  though  he  were  dazzled.  The 
shaft  of  sunlight  had  mounted  higher.  It  turned  her 
hair  to  a  net  of  gold  about  her  head. 

"  I  see  the  angel  with  the  sword,"  he  said  again. 

Then  he  looked  at  her  as  though  from  an  immense 
distance. 

"Give  me  one  kiss,  Dorothea,"  he  said.  "I  am 
going  home.  Give  me  a  kiss  for  all  the  years  that  I 
shall  be  without  you." 

Without  a  word  she  gave  him  her  lips.  For  an 
instant  they  clung  together.  Then  he  put  her  away 
gently  and  without  a  word  he  turned  and  strode  away 
through  the  wood. 

Some  time  during  the  afternoon  Dorothea  came  into 
Lady  Stella's  morning-room  and  found  her  alone.  She 
was  paler  than  usual ;  of  late  she  had  been  too  pale ; 
but  quite  steady  and  composed. 

"  I  have  seen  Dick,"  she  said. 

"  I  knew  something  had  happened  by  your  face." 

"  Yes ;  I  have  seen  Dick.  I  talked  to  him  for  .  .  = 
perhaps  half  an  hour  in  the  Vale  Woods." 

"And " 

She  took  Dorothea's  hand  in  hers  and  it  was  cold. 

"  I  told  him  that  I  loved  him.  He  was  .  .  .  Dick. 
He  asked  me  for  one  kiss  and  I  gave  it  to  him.  He 

y 


322  DICK  PENTREATH 

might  have  had  a  thousand.  Then  he  went  away  ... 
back  to  her" 

"Ah!"  Lady  Stella's  face  was  full  of  perplexity 
and  pain.  "  You  ought  not  to  have  met  him.  You 
must  not  meet  him  again.  Where  have  you  been 
since  ? " 

"  Lying  on  my  face  in  the  wood.  I  crept  into  the 
undergrowth.  I  wanted  to  die  ...  but  one  doesn't  die. 
I  have  ruined  my  pretty  frock.  I  had  to  watch  my 
opportunity  to  steal  in  unobserved.  The  stain  of  the 
grass  is  upon  it." 

"  You  must  not  meet  him  again." 

"  I  must  not  meet  him  again."  Her  voice  rang  out 
suddenly  clear  and  sweet,  almost  joyous.  "I  do  not 
know  what  I  might  say  or  do.  But  as  for  Dick — Dick 
would  always  be  Dick;  you  know  what  you  told  me 
your  brother  said.  Dick  was  always  straight  with 
women.  He  would  be  straightest  of  all  with  the 
woman  he  loved." 

Then  her  voice  changed  and  broke. 

"  I  am  going  away,  Stella,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  put 
the  breadth  of  the  world  between  me  and  Dick.  You 
must  let  me  go  at  once.  You  know  my  project  of 
joining  the  Sisters  of  St.  Luke.  I  have  only  not  put 
it  in  practice  before  because  my  father  and  mother 
could  not  bear  me  to  go  so  far  away.  But  they  will 
not  oppose  me  when  they  see  that  I  am  bent  on  going. 


"  I    SHALL    PUT    THE    BREADTH    OF    THE    WORLD    BETWEEN 
ME    AND    DlCK."  [page  322} 


LOVERS'  MEETING  323 

I  shall  be  of  some  use  in  the  world,  presently,  helping 
those  poor  creatures.  You  have  been  an  angel  to  me. 
Now  you  must  let  me  go  at  once." 

"  To-morrow." 

"  Not  to-morrow ;  to-day.  I  am  eager  to  begin. 
You  know  there  is  a  two  years'  probation.  Mother  St. 
John  will  take  me  in  to-morrow.  I  shall  not  need  to 
wait  for  clothes  or  anything.  Say  God-speed  and  let 
me  go.  I  shall  be  ready  for  the  five- o'clock  train ;  I 
shall  telegraph  to  father  to  meet  me.  To-morrow  I 
shall  go  to  Mother  St.  John." 

Lady  Stella  looked  at  Dorothea,  She  had  an  air  of 
flight.  If  one  had  to  flee  in  order  to  save  one's  soul 
alive ! 

"  My  dearest  dear,"  she  said,     "  God  speed  you ! " 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

A  PROBATIONER  OF   ST.   LUKE 

THE  Sisters  of  St.  Luke  took  no  vows.  They  were  free 
to  marry,  to  return  to  their  homes  at  any  time.  They 
were  a  society  of  women  bonded  together  for  the 
purpose  of  nursing  the  sick  at  home  and  also  in  India, 
where  the  ministrations  of  medical  women  are  so 
terribly  needed.  They  wore  a  plain  black  dress  with 
a  red  cross  pinned  on  their  breasts.  When  they  were 
at  work  in  the  hospital  which  was  connected  with  their 
house,  they  wore  short  dresses  of  blue  check,  white 
aprons,  and  white  caps  on  their  heads.  When  they 
went  out-of-doors — and  they  went  to  and  fro  a  good 
deal  nursing  the  sick  in  their  own  homes — they  were 
hidden  away  in  black  bonnets  and  veils  and  cloaks. 

"  I  never  could  keep  the  machine  going,  so  many 
women  of  different  ages  and  varying  dispositions  work- 
ing together,"  said  Mother  St.  John,  "unless  we 
observed  something  of  a  conventual  rule.  The  con- 
vent, after  all,  is  the  result  of  the  wisdom  of  all  the 

324 


A   PROBATIONER   OF   ST.   LUKE  325 

ages  in  the  direction  of  organized  charitable  work  by 
women.  What  am  I  that  I  should  refuse  to  avail 
myself  of  it  ? " 

So  the  Sisters  of  St.  Luke  lived  according  to  rule, 
and  led  a  retired  life  in  their  old  house  within  its 
garden  surrounded  by  high  walls  with  a  line  of  forest 
trees  growing  within  them,  while  outside  the  squalid 
town  fought  for  bread  and  brought  its  wounds  to  be 
healed  to  the  Hospice  of  St.  Luke. 

The  house  had  once  been  a  country-house  before 
the  town  had  gained  on  it.  It  kept  still  its  velvety 
green  lawns,  its  lilies  and  roses,  its  singing  birds.  To 
be  sure  the  verdure  was  a  little  soiled,  the  lilies  and 
roses  flecked  with  smuts ;  the  singing- birds  from  the 
safety  of  their  cages  of  leaves  and  air  could  look  down 
with  contempt  on  prowling  cats  on  the  pavement  out- 
side the  walls.  Their  stronghold  was  impervious,  the 
high  walls  having  a  toothed  barrier  of  glass.  The 
wildest  cat  could  not  hope  to  climb  the  trees  by  those 
walls. 

A  crazy  rookery  of  tenements  had  risen  the  other 
side  of  the  road  from  the  Hostel.  When  the  boughs 
were  bare  the  inhabitants  could  overlook  the  Sisters 
walking  up  and  down  talking  cheerfully,  or  reading  or 
gardening.  The  children  in  the  tenement  houses  over 
the  way  knew  that  it  was  spring  when  they  could  no 
longer  see  the  Sisters  in  their  garden.  When  the  hot 


326  DICK  PENTBBATH 

summer  weather  came,  many  a  mite  from  the  tenements, 
who  never  went  out  of  town,  caught  a  glimpse  of 
heaven  in  the  Hostel  garden  and  was  filled  full  of 
strawberries  and  cream  and  all  manner  of  good  things 
before  it  went  back  to  the  crazy  tenements  with  a  new 
experience  to  think  upon  in,  the  heavy  hours. 

Many  a  sick  child  you  might  have  seen  under  the 
whispering  boughs  during  the  sultry  days,  lying  on 
invalid  couches  or  in  comfortable  chairs,  looking  up  to 
the  wonder-world  of  green  and  gold  above. 

The  lilies  and  roses  of  the  Sisters'  faces  were  some- 
thing that  the  smuts  and  the  dust  could  not  sully. 
Their  eyes  were  as  bright  as  the  birds',  their  voices  as 
cheerful.  They  were  so  busy  from  morning  till  night : 
Mother  St.  John  used  to  say  that  if  the  day  had  forty- 
eight  hours  she  could  fill  them  all.  The  sleep  of  the 
labouring  man  is  sweet:  and  the  Sisters  of  St.  Luke 
went  to  bed  tired  and  woke  up  refreshed. 

It  was  astonishing  how  many  wounds  they  healed 
besides  the  wounds  of  the  body.  Mother  St.  John  was 
confidant  to  all  the  neighbourhood.  The  foolish  and 
the  wicked  came  to  her  as  did  the  sick  and  the  needy, 
and  went  away  refreshed  and  comforted.  Even  when 
her  step  grew  languid  in  the  August  heats,  and  the 
doctor  suggested  a  change  to  the  seaside,  Mother  St. 
John  could  not  be  spared,  could  not  spare  herself. 

"  If  I  could  take  all  these,  doctor,"  she  said,  waving 


A  PROBATIONER  OF  ST.  LUKE  327 

her  hand  towards  the  tenements,  "I  would  go;  but, 
since  I  cannot,  I  must  stay.  I  am  looking  still  for 
the  rich  man  who  will  make  us  a  colony  of  tents  on 
a  solitary  part  of  the  sea-shore  where  we  could  do  no 
harm  to  any  one,  where  the  sun  could  shine  on  us  all, 
the  just  and  the  unjust." 

The  doctor  shrugged  his  shoulders  humorously.  He 
was  a  pronounced  Agnostic,  a  man  of  the  world;  he 
had  a  great  West  End  practice,  yet  for  Mother  St. 
John's  sake  he  visited  the  Hospice  twice  a  week  for 
nothing,  although  the  great  of  the  earth  waited  outside 
his  consulting-room  during  the  hours  of  his  absence. 

"  You  exact  obedience  from  others,"  he  said.  "  Yet 
you  are  disobedient  yourself." 

"I  can't  exact  obedience  from  you,"  she  replied, 
laughing. 

"  When  have  I  disobeyed  you  ?  " 

"If  I  thought  there  was  any  chance  of  your  obeying 
me  now  I'd  tell  you  to  fall  down  on  your  knees  and 
ask  for  light." 

"  Dear  me,  how  surprised  some  of  my  friends  would 
be  if  they  saw  me  in  that  attitude  !  " 

"  Oh,  you'll  come  to  it :  you'll  come  to  it.  All  the 
good  you  do  will  bear  fruit." 

"  The  good  I  do  !  One  keeps  one's  hand  in.  It  is 
a  mistake  to  become  so  successful  that  one  has  no 
time  to  keep  up  with  the  times." 


328  DICK  PENTREATH 

There  was  one  of  Mother  St.  John's  daughters  as 
she  called  them,  who  hardly  satisfied  the  Mother's 
heart.  Sister  Dorothea  had  gone  through  her  training 
triumphantly.  "  She  will  do !  "  the  great  doctor  had 
said,  nodding  his  head :  and  the  praise  had  been 
repeated  to  Dorothea  with  great  pride  by  the  Mother. 
She  had  now  been  nearly  two  years  at  the  Hostel 
and  she  was  to  go  to  India  with  the  next  batch  of 
Sisters.  She  had  stood  all  the  tests  admirably,  begin- 
ning with  the  lowest  and  most  repulsive  tasks  for  the 
hospital  patients,  going  on  to  being  trusted  with  the 
nursing  of  the  most  intricate  cases. 

"  I  don't  want  your  machines  to  do  my  nursing," 
the  doctor  said  again,  after  Dorothea  had  stood  by 
during  an  operation  on  a  child,  white  as  a  sheet,  but 
composed  and  ready.  "  The  nurse  without  imagination 
and  heart  often  undoes  with  one  hand  what  she  does 
with  the  other.  If  the  spirit  is  oppressed  it  is  not  easy 
for  the  body  to  build  itself  up.  That  is  what  the 
machines  will  not  understand.  Give  me  a  nervous 
woman  with  nerve  like  Sister  Dorothea.  She  feels  the 
pangs  of  others  and  it  keeps  her  heart  soft.  It  is  too 
easy  in  our  profession  to  acquire  a  hard  heart.' ' 

"  We  supply  the  motive,  you  see,  doctor." 

"  And  that  ?  " 

"  The  love  of  God." 

"  Wouldn't  the  love  of  humanity  be  good  enough  ? " 


A   PROBATIONER  OF  ST.  LUKE  329 

"The  greater  embraces  the  lesser.  But  to  return 
to  Sister  Dorothea.  She  suffers :  she  continues  to 
suffer." 

"  She  looks  less  cheerful  than  the  rest  of  your  brood. 
Am  I  to  pass  her  for  India  ?  " 

"  There  is  nothing  against  it.  She  is  quite  healthy, 
but  she  has  seen  trouble." 

"Ah!" 

"  And  the  trouble  does  not  grow  less  as  it  nearly 
always  does  where  there  is  beneficent  occupation.  She 
blames  herself  for  the  unhappiness  she  brought  on 
some  one  she  loved." 

"There  is  nothing  in  the  pharmacopoeia  for  love 
troubles.  Time  may  help  and  the  beneficent  occu- 
pation in  time.  She  is  a  beautiful  girl." 

A  few  days  later,  Mother  St.  John  sent  a  message 
for  Sister  Dorothea  to  come  to  her  in  her  own  room. 
It  was  a  brown-panelled  room,  looking  at  this  time  of 
year  into  the  heart  of  a  chestnut  tree  which  filled  it 
with  a  dim  green  light.  It  was  the  sweet  of  the  year. 
In  the  country  young  lambs  were  playing,  and  the 
larks  were  rising  over  upland  fields  all  day.  Cuckoo 
was  calling  in  the  dim  glades.  The  world  had  clad 
herself  in  green  and  white  and  gold  with  a  miraculous 
sky  of  azure  and  silver.  Just  two  years  ago,  Dick 
and  Dorothea  had  met  in  the  wood :  five  years  earlier 
they  had  been  declared  lovers. 


330  DICK   PBNTKEATH 

Sister  Dorothea  came  hurrying  in  to  the  dim, 
bright  room,  which  seemed  suffused  with  the  Mother's 
own  sweetness.  She  had  a  little  white  cap  over  her 
bright  hair  and  was  wearing  her  working  dress  of  blue 
and  white. 

"  Sit  down,  child,"  the  Mother  said,  looking  up 
from  her  account-books.  There  were  full  bookcases 
round  the  walls ;  a  lovely  print  after  an  early  Florentine 
painter  of  the  Madonna  and  Child  in  a  flowery  meadow 
above  the  fireplace:  a  cheerful  matting  on  the  floor. 
A  bowl  of  wallflowers  stood  among  the  heaped-up 
documents  of  the  table,  the  gift  of  a  flower-girl  who 
had  recovered  her  health  in  the  Hospice. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  ? "  the  Mother  asked, 
with  her  quick,  bright  glance. 

"  I  have  been  dressing  little  Nonnie's  gangrened 
foot.  She  is  so  brave,  poor  little  darling." 

"  You  have  been  brave  too,  my  child,"  the  Mother 
said,  looking  at  her  with  tender  approval.  "  But  now, 
I  want  to  tell  you.  Your  work  with  us  is  over.  You 
are  not  to  go  to  India,  after  all." 

The  blood  rushed  to  Dorothea's  transparent  cheeks : 
then  ebbed  again,  leaving  her  paler  than  before. 

"  Dr.  L'Estrange  will  not  pass  me  ? "  she  said. 

"  It  is  not  that,  my  child.  It  is  only  that  your 
sphere  of  duty  lies  elsewhere.  My  child,  Mr.  Pentreath 
is  free.  You  will  have  to  make  amends  to  him." 


A   PROBATIONER  OF  ST.  LUKE  331 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  With  true  feminine  incon- 
sistency Dorothea  wrung  her  hands.  "  How  do  I  know 
he  wants  ine  ?  Perhaps,  if  we  saw  each  other  .  .  . 
Indeed  I  was  learning  to  be  happy.  There  is  some  one 
who  could  make  him  much  happier  than  I.  I  failed 
him  terribly  before.  Perhaps  I  would  fail  him  again. 
The  years  change  us  all.  He  would  find  me  changed. 
Besides,  I  thought  when  I  went  to  India  of  taking 
vows  ;  I  thought  it  would  make  me  happier.  Oh,  there 
is  no  undoing  such  a  past  as  I  have  made  for  myself 
and  him." 

"You  had  better  see  a  friend,"  the  Mother  said, 
standing  up.  "  No ;  it  is  not  Mr.  Pentreath.  He 
would  not  come  to  you  so  soon.  In  fact,  he  is  far  away 
at  this  moment.  But  I  have  no  doubt  of  where  your 
duty  lies.  And  presently,  when  you  have  got  over 
these  sudden  tidings  you  will  have  no  doubt  either. 
You  have  a  great  deal  to  atone  for.  God  is  good  in 
giving  you  another  chance." 

They  went  downstairs  together  to  one  of  the  half- 
dozen  little  parlours  where  a  row  of  chairs  were  set 
stiffly  round  the  walls,  and  the  few  pieces  of  furniture, 
spare  but  good,  gave  an  air  of  clean  austerity  to  their 
surroundings.  There  they  found  Lady  Stella. 

"  I  was  wondering  what  kept  you,"  Dorothea  said. 
"Do  you  know  that  it  is  six  weeks  since  you  have 
been  ?  and  we  were  to  sail  in  the  first  week  of  June. 


332  DICK  PENTREATH 

I  used  to  think  it  was  so  unlike  you ;  but  I  would  not 
write.  I  had  been  making  up  my  mind  to  do  without 
things.  If  I  had  gone  to  India  I  should  never  have 
come  back.  I  should  have  taken  vows.  I  thought  it 
would  be  happier  when  things  were  irrevocable.  Now, 
tell  me." 

"Mrs.  Pentreath  died  in  March.  The  doctor  told 
me  that  Dick  was  wonderful.  The  poor  creature  was 
helpless  for  a  long  time  and  shut  off  from  communica- 
tion with  any  one  but  Dick.  She  knew  Dick  and  he 
could  always  quiet  her.  For  a  long  time  he  only  left 
the  house  when  she  slept." 

"  And  he  has  gone  away  ?  '* 

"  Arthur  carried  him  off.  We  thought  it  was  best. 
They  are  gone  to  shoot  big  game  in  the  Rockies.  They 
expect  to  be  away  a  year." 

"  And  afterwards  ?  " 

"  You  won't  postpone  Dick's  happiness  any  longer. 
Life  must  begin  newly  for  him  when  he  comes  back." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  he  will  want  me  ?  He 
sent  me  no  message  ? " 

"  Not  in  words.  That  poor,  unhappy  creature  was 
only  just  buried.  His  eyes  gave  me  messages  for  you, 
and  the  long,  clinging  clasp  of  his  hand." 

"  He  will  find  me  changed.  Think  of  it ;  six  years 
will  have  passed  by  since  we  were  lovers,  and  I  have 
suffered  much." 


A  PROBATIONER  OP  ST.   LUKE  333 

"  My  dear  Dorothea,  Dick's  head  is  white  as  snow." 

"Ah!" 

The  little  ejaculation  was  a  moan  of  compassion. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  said  to  Arthur  in  his  hearing 
just  before  they  left.  *  I  shall  not  be  lonely/  I  said, 
'  for  Dorothea  will  keep  me  company.'  By  the  way,  I 
have  Sancho  till  they  come  back.  Sancho,  like  his 
master,  is  older  than  he  ought  to  be.  He  lies  for  hours 
with  his  nose  on  his  paws,  not  asleep,  like  other  dogs, 
but  thinking.  What  a  welcome  he  will  give  you ! " 

"  It  is  you  who  ought  to  have  married  Dick.  How, 
indeed,  did  he  ever  look  at  me  having  known  you  ? " 

"  Ah,  but  .  .  ."  Lady  Stella's  eyelids  fluttered  ever 
so  slightly.  "  I  have  said  { Yes '  to  Mr.  Goldhawk.  We 
are  only  waiting  till  my  brother  comes  back." 

"  Oh,  Stella,  I  hope  you  will  be  very  happy." 

"So  far  as  mortal  power  can  ensure  it  I  shall  be. 
He  will  give  all  his  heart  and  soul  to  it ;  and  it  is  a 
great  heart  and  a  great  soul." 

"  I  wish  he  could  hear  you  and  see  you." 

"  Child !  he  hears  and  sees  enough  to  satisfy  him. 
By  the  way,  you  have  not  heard  from  home,  have 
you  ? " 

"  I  asked  them  to  let  me  be  for  a  little  while.  I 
wanted  to  gain  strength  for  going  away,  not  to  have  all 
my  loves  plucking  me  back." 

"  Ah,  well,  you  have  not  heard  Hilda's  news,  then. 


334  DICK   PENTREATH 

Hilda  and  my  brother  will  be  married  next  year. 
Hilda  wants  to  come  out  near  the  top  in  the  Classical 
Tripos.  She  positively  said  to  Arthur  that  she  would 
like  to  have  that  gift  to  bring  him.  Imagine  Arthur, 
who  never  could  acquire  any  sort  of  learning  ! — except 
to  be  good  and  straight  and  simple.  I  think  Hilda 
will  be  the  only  one  of  the  Duchesses  who  has  been 
bracketed  with  a  Wrangler  if  she  attains  that  summit 
of  her  ambition.  And  now,  Dorothea,  my  carriage 
waits.  I  can  give  you  half  an  hour.  You  will  find 
some  people  you  know  at  the  Towers.  In  fact,  your 
father  and  mother  and  Hilda  are  there.  We  can  catch 
the  five  fifty-five  train." 

"  A  little  later,"  said  Dorothea,  with  a  scared  look, 
"  a  little  later  I  might  have  taken  the  vows." 


EPILOGUE 

THERE  are  seasons  when  the  world  has  a  chrism  and  a 
benediction  upon  it,  is  innocent  as  a  newly  christened 
child.  One  has  felt  it  sometimes  about  Easter,  some- 
times in  the  delicious  season  between  Easter  and 
Whitsuntide,  and  has  thought  of  the  time  when  the 
Lord  was  restored,  given  up  by  the  grave  to  His  mother 
and  His  disciples  and  walked  with  them  for  a  little 
while,  a  little  exquisite  time  when  the  glory, of  His 
ascension  prevented  His  feet  and  the  earth  arrayed 
itself  wonderfully  to  hail  Him  Conqueror  of  Death. 

In  such  a  season  Dorothea  came  back  from  the 
Hospice  to  Lydford,  glad,  yes,  humbly  glad,  of  her 
youth  and  her  freedom  to  love.  If  she  had  taken  the 
vows,  why,  then  she  had  been  dead  to  the  human  joys  ; 
and  like  one  recovering  from  an  illness  she  was  very 
glad  to  be  alive. 

To  be  sure  there  was  a  whole  year  to  be  gone 
through  before  the  return  of  the  travellers ;  but,  as  it 
happened,  it  was  a  radiant  year,  a  long,  golden,  miracu- 
lous summer  lasting  almost  up  to  the  threshold  of  the 

335 


336  DICK   PENTREATH 

winter,  a  winter  of  silver  frosts  and  rosy  skies ;  and 
over  all  the  expectation — 

"...  Oh  wind 
If  Winter  comes  can  Spring  be  far  behind?" 

The  year  was  not  too  long  for  Hilda,  who  had  to 
achieve  the  summit  of  her  desires,  and  who  did  indeed 
come  out  bracketed  with  the  Third  Wrangler.  "  I 
would  have  done  better,"  she  complained,  "  if  I  had  not 
had  so  many  distractions.  I  do  hope  Arthur  will  not 
be  disappointed." 

The  distractions  were  the  everlasting  details  of  the 
Duchess's  trousseau,  which  Lady  Stella  superintended, 
taking  care  that  little  Hilda  was  not  overloaded  with 
splendour.  Hilda,  still  childish  and  with  the  forehead 
of  intellect  under  her  straight,  childish  fringe — she  did 
not  like  the  intellectual  forehead,  and  envied  the  low 
broad-browed  damsels — with  the  childish  pigtail  down 
her  back,  required  indeed  very  simple  splendours ;  she 
could  not  carry  things  magnificently  as  Lady  Stella 
could;  Lady  Stella's  splendours,  if  sober,  were 
splendours  indeed. 

As  for  Dorothea,  she  would  make  no  preparations 
at  all. 

"  If  I  am  going  to  be  married,"  she  said,  "  there  are 
all  the  garments  provided  for  me  six  years  ago.  And  I 
shall  be  married  quietly  in  a  travelling-dress.  It  is 


EPILOGUE  337 

not  the  same  for  people  with  such  memories  as  we 
have." 

Yet,  even  while  she  said  it,  she  trembled  at  that 
"  we,"  at  the  juxtaposition  in  her  words  of  her  life  and 
Dick  Pentreath's. 

During  that  year  Sancho  was  her  constant  insepar- 
able companion.  He  lived  now  at  Lydford  Towers,  and 
only  went  to  Oakhurst  when  Dorothea  and  Lady  Stella 
visited  the  housekeeper  and  had  tea  with  her.  On 
these  occasions  Sancho  would  forget  when  they  came 
near  Oakhurst  that  he  was  no  longer  a  young  dog  and 
would  bound  along  before  them,  filled  with  the  wild, 
irrational  hope  once  again  of  finding  the  master  in  the 
familiar  rooms.  He  would  rush  from  room  to  room 
seeking  him,  and  not  finding  him  would  return  to 
Dorothea's  side  and  lie  with  his  head  on  a  fold  of  her 
skirt,  sighing,  with  wide-open,  melancholy  eyes. 

"It  is  the  saddest  part  of  visiting  Oakhurst," 
Dorothea  said,  "  that  poor  Sancho  must  suffer  the  same 
disappointment  over  and  over." 

"  It  will  all  be  made  up  for,"  Lady  Stella  replied, 
"  on  the  day  Dick  returns." 

Before  the  winter  came  Dick  had  written  to 
Dorothea  and  she  to  him.  Again  the  engagement  ring 
was  on  her  finger.  She  had  the  right  to  come  and  go 
at  Oakhurst,  superintending  the  preparations  that  were 
a-making  for  the  master's  return  and  the  new  life. 

z 


338  DICK   PENTREATH 

The  old  house  was  being  painted  and  papered  as  soon 
as  the  spring  set  in,  was  being  swept  and  garnished, 
rehabilitated;  all  the  old  unhappy  memories  were  to 
be  turned  out  of  doors. 

Mrs.  Maidment  was  at  the  head  of  a  little  staff  of 
servants  now;  and,  coming  one  day  with  Sancho, 
Dorothea  heard  Brew  whistling  cheerfully  as  he  went 
to  and  fro  his  work  in  the  stable-yard.  There  had 
been  years  when  Brew  had  not  whistled. 

Sancho  had  had  his  moments  of  black  melancholy 
during  that  winter.  But  with  the  preparations  at 
Oakhurst  he  grew  restless. 

He  and  Dorothea  had  sat  down  one  day  in  the 
dismantled  library.  He  had  put  his  great  paws  on 
Dorothea's  shoulders  and  his  eyes  asked  her  what  all 
these  preparations  meant. 

"They  mean  that  the  master  is  coming  home, 
Sancho,"  said  Dorothea,  who  had  acquired  Dick's  way 
of  talking  to  the  dog.  "It  means  that  one  of  these 
days  I  shall  bring  you  here  and  leave  you.  And  then 
I  shall  run  away  myself,  for  I  am  terribly  afraid, 
Sancho,  at  times.  How  would  it  be  if  when  his  eyes 
fell  on  me  I  saw  that  he  was  changed  to  me  and  that 
he  had  found  it  out  at  last  ? " 

Sancho  pawed  at  her  shoulder  and  whined. 

"You  are  talking  unmitigated  rubbish,"  his  eyes 
said.  "  He  will  be  more  in  love  with  you  than  ever." 


EPILOGUE  339 

"  After  all,  how  can  he  ever  really  forgive  me — after 
such  suffering  ?  Have  you  forgiven  me,  Sancho  ? " 

"  Why,  we  never  blamed  you,"  said  Sancho's  loyal 
eyes. 

"  Do  you  think  I  can  make  it  up  to  him  ?  Do  you 
think  we  can  make  a  greater  happiness  for  each  other 
than  was  possible  in  those  old  days — with  such 
memories  ? " 

Sancho  gave  an  impassioned  lick  at  Dorothea's 
satin  head. 

She  drew  Dick's  latest  letter  from  its  nest  of  love 
in  her  bosom  and  held  it  to  Sancho  as  though  he  could 
read  it. 

"See  there;  there  are  messages  for  you  too.  He 
says  that  he  misses  you  constantly  ;  only  that  he  knew 
the  hardships  would  have  been  too  much  for  you  he 
could  not  have  left  you  behind.  He  says  that  .  .  . 
next  to  my  welcome  ...  he  looks  forward  to  yours. 
You  know  he  is  coming,  dear  old  dog.  Now,  take  it 
all  in,  lest  you  die  of  the  joy ! " 

Sancho  sniffed  at  the  letter  and  his  tail  began  to 
beat  on  the  polished  floor.  The  scent  of  the  master's 
hand  was  upon  it  and  brought  the  master  near. 

"  He  is  nearly  as  white  as  you,  Sancho,"  Dorothea 
went  on.  "  Can  I  atone  to  him  ?  Can  I  build  him  up 
love  and  joy  again  ?  Alas,  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  make 
him  forget,  nor  make  you  forget.  I  never  look  at  you, 


340  DICK   PENTREATH 

Sancho,  but  I  see  the  shadow  of  the  dreadful  years  in 
your  eyes.  Shall  I  not  see  it  in  his  ? " 

She  closed  her  eyes  for  an  instant,  and  like  a  vision 
and  a  dream  there  came  to  her  the  thing  that  should 
give  Dick  back  his  youth  again.  There  would  be 
children  in  the  old  house.  The  little  footsteps  and 
the  happy  voices  would  join  with  the  exorcism  of  the 
sun  and  the  air  blown  in  from  the  fields  and  the 
freshness  of  trees  and  the  scent  of  grass  and  flowers 
and  her  love  to  blot  out  the  things  that  were  gone  by. 
In  the  new  life  the  old  house  would  be  filled  with 
innocences  and  the  innocent  beginnings  of  life. 

At  last  everything  was  done.  Oakhurst  shone  fresh 
and  fair,  spick-and-span,  from  head  to  foot.  Not  a 
corner  but  had  been  routed  out ;  not  a  surface  but  had 
been  polished.  Except  for  the  Bride's  Room  the  house 
had  put  on  a  new  face.  It  had  been  Dorothea's  de- 
cision that  that  should  remain  as  it  was. 

By  this  time  it  was  early  June,  and,  at  last,  the 
waiting  which  was  hardest  when  it  came  to  the  very 
last  days  was  nearly  come  to  an  end.  The  boat  was 
expected  at  Southampton  during  the  night.  The 
travellers  might  be  looked  for  some  time  in  the  late 
afternoon. 

Hilda  was  at  Lydford  Towers  awaiting  her  Duke. 
Dorothea  envied  her  her  calm  radiance  which  yet 
permitted  her  to  lose  herself  in  the  pages  of  a  book. 


EPILOGUE  341 

It  was  quite  restful  to  look  at  her ;  but  Dorothea  was 
restless.  She  hardly  knew  if  she  endured  pain  or 
pleasure. 

Mr.  Goldhawk  had  arrived  at  the  Towers  the  evening 
before  the  last  day  and  Lady  Stella's  time  was  absorbed. 
After  breakfast  Dorothea  put  on  her  hat  and  calling 
Sancho  to  follow  her  she  set  out  for  Oakhurst.  There 
was  one  thing  she  had  left  till  this  morning,  and  that 
was  to  fill  the  house  with  roses.  She  would  find  them 
all  fresh  and  dewy.  The  sun  did  not  get  to  the  garden 
till  the  afternoon.  The  house  would  be  fragrant  with 
roses  when  he  entered  it;  but  that  would  not  be  till 
evening.  Lady  Stella  had  decided  that  he  was  to  be 
intercepted  at  the  station  and  carried  off  to  Lydford 
to  dine. 

As  Dorothea  clipped  her  roses  and  arranged  them 
she  was  conscious  of  a  distaste  for  this  manner  of  their 
meeting.  She  wished  Dick  had  asked  her  to  be  in 
waiting  for  him  at  Southampton.  If  she  could  have 
gone  down  there  quietly  with  her  mother  and  been 
married  as  soon  after  his  landing  as  the  law  permitted 
and  gone  away  quietly  for  a  time,  that  would  have  been 
best  of  all.  It  was  all  right  for  Hilda  and  the  Duke — 
a  happy  boy  and  girl,  despite  the  Duke's  thirty  odd 
years — to  meet  at  Lydford,  with  their  little  world 
rejoicing  over  their  happiness.  There  must  be  some- 
thing graver  in  the  meeting  between  her  and  Dick, 


342  DICK   PENTREATH 

that  ought  to  take  place  quietly,  not  under  eyes  how- 
ever sympathetic. 

The  house  was  exquisite  this  morning,  so  shaded  in 
the  old  rooms  with  the  sun  lying  on  the  emerald  lawns 
outside,  so  sweet  with  the  summer  wind  in  them  and 
the  scent  of  the  roses  and  the  breath  of  bean-fields  and 
the  new-mown  hay.  The  wind  stirred  the  snow-white 
fragrant  curtains.  Bees  buzzed  in  and  out  the  open 
windows. 

Dorothea  moving  here  and  there  quietly  through 
the  rooms  was  like  the  spirit  of  the  place.  She  had 
taken  off  her  rose-wreathed  hat.  She  was  wearing  her 
favourite  green  gown  with  one  of  the  silky  fichus  she 
was  fond  of  draped  about  her  shoulders.  The  long 
frills  of  white  silk  fell  away  from  her  slender  arms  as 
she  lifted  the  freshly  filled  vases  to  the  places  that 
belonged  to  them.  There  was  a  regiment  of  them  to 
fill  and  it  took  her  a  good  while  in  the  doing. 

She  had  filled  the  last  bowl  which  was  to  be  on 
Dick's  breakfast-table  and  was  standing  back  survey- 
ing the  effect,  when  there  was  a  wild  bark  from  Sancho. 
There  was  some  one  coming  in  from  the  garden  as 
though  he  had  never  gone  away,  Dick,  white-haired 
indeed,  and  no  more  the  image  of  happy  youth  he 
had  once  been,  but  Dick,  bronzed,  his  face  shining, 
his  eyes  the  eyes  of  a  lover.  He  had  taken  her  by  her 
wet  rose-sweet  hands,  making  incoherent  explanations 


EPILOGUE  343 

about  the  boat  having  arrived  earlier  than  was  expected. 
She  was  in  his  arms,  with  her  head  on  his  breast.  All 
doubts  were  over  and  done  with.  God  had  given  her 
her  second  wonderful  chance  and  she  had  taken  it. 

But,  to  be  sure,  it  was  not  like  the  meeting  of 
young  lovers.  Was  Dick  sobbing  as  he  hid  his  eyes 
in  her  hair  ? 

"  I  have  served  seven  years  for  my  Rachel,"  he  said, 
"  seven  years  of  years ;  and  I  have  won  her  after  all." 

He  was  conscious  of  the  ordered  sweetness  and 
fragrance  of  the  house.  The  scent  of  the  roses  was 
about  him  like  a  visible  presence,  something  which  he 
could  never  again  disentangle  from  Dorothea  in  his 
arms,  looking  at  him  with  the  eyes  of  a  bride. 

But  suddenly  he  relinquished  her  and  knelt  down 
beside  Sancho  who  was  fawning  on  him,  almost  dying 
of  the  great  suffocating  heart-beats  of  his  joy.  He  put 
his  arms  round  the  dog  and  let  him  lick  his  face  and 
his  hair. 

"We  three  shall  never  be  parted  again,"  he  said; 
and  he  recognized  poignantly  the  sweetness  of  his  old 
house  among  the  fields  with  the  one  exquisite  woman 
to  be  the  light  of  the  house. 

"  No  one  could  ever  be  so  happy,"  he  said,  "unless 
they  had  suffered  first  as  I  have  done." 

But  after  that  he  spoke  no  more  of  his  suffering. 

He  looked  around  the  room  with  eyes  that  dazzled 


344  DICK  PENTREATH 

and  thought  on  the  honourable  years  in  which  he  and 
Dorothea  and  their  children  should  make  the  old  house 
forget,  amid  the  tranquil  happiness  of  which  his  wounds 
should  be  forgotten. 

"  And  so  at  last,  my  dear  and  only  love,"  he  said, 
"  the  bride  has  come  home." 


THE  END 


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